Ashes
by DesertOrchid7485
Summary: Out of the ashes of two, a Grimm is born. But between two worlds, his heart is torn. Which life should he choose? For either way, he will lose. Nick/Juliette, Nick/Renard, Nick whump
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Ashes

**Summary: **Out of the ashes of two, a Grimm is born. But between two worlds, his heart is torn. Which life should he choose? For either way, he will lose.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Pairing: **Nick/Juliet (small amount), Nick/Renard, Monroe/Rosalee

**Characters: **Nick, Renard, Hank, Monroe, Rosalee, Juliette, Bud

**Spoilers: **Tag to "Leave it to Beavers" so if you haven't seen the episode, consider yourself warned. I've changed the ending a bit as well so it's also an AU.

**Disclaimer: **Grimm nor none of its characters are mine; believe me, you'd be able to tell if I owned or wrote it. :-)

**Author's Note: **While I was watching the fight scene at the end, I kept wishing that TPTB would injure Nick. I mean, I know he's a Grimm and a supposedly bad-ass one but still, I find it hard to believe that he got through his first fight without a scratch. SO, I'm writing it where he did get hurt. :-D Gotta love a whumper, right? Come on, you know you love my stories.. :-D

**2: **Also, I'm changing a bit of the fight scene so that it not only makes sense but works for my "nefarious" purposes. Hope you don't mind too much. ;-)

* * *

**Part I**

Nick walked through the warehouse, his gun held at the ready and his ears open. To his right, he heard the sound of a scythe being unsheathed and he whipped around, cocking his pistol as he moved. Though he'd had the afternoon lesson with the older weapons, he actually preferred to use his gun; it was best for stopping someone in their tracks while doing the least amount of damage.

The noise, as it turned out, was just a diversion because the minute his back was turned, a Reaper attacked. It was easy enough for him to get out of the way before the sharp blade was plunged deeply into his back, his Grimm instincts kicking in more so than anything else. But he knew reflexes weren't everything.

He backed into what appeared to be a heater to protect his fragile spinal chord and held his arms out wide, flattening himself against the metal behind him so that the Reaper would have to work hard to get his body. The Reaper swung and the handle of his scythe smacked harshly against Nick's right wrist, hitting the right nerve with just enough force to send the gun flying. In a flash of metal, the gun went spinning across the floor. He watched it go, hoping it would land somewhere close by and easy to get. It didn't.

Another Reaper came out to join the fight just as the first knocked the gun out his hand. They both swung viciously with their scythes, both aiming to kill him as quickly as possible. The Grimm did the only thing he could think of: he threw himself sideways, miraculously adding a spin to it that he'd only seen in movies.

Quick though he had been in his decision and move, he hadn't been quick enough. Pain seared through his left leg during the turn, followed by the sensation of fluid streaming up and down the limb. He landed on the concrete floor, the sounds of his body hitting the floor drowned out by the constant swishing of the two blades that fought marvelously for the honor of killing him.

Nick gritted his teeth as he hit, thankful for the adrenaline that now coursed through his veins like blood, aiding him in the fight. While the two Reapers continued to swing (and miss) at him, Nick grabbed the closest weapon in his bag. He didn't know what it was called, but to him it was just a baseball bat with pointed spikes on it.

Swinging it at the nearest Reaper, Nick forced the Wesen to back up so that he could get some room and so that he could stand up to meet the second (or first depending on if you're going by appearance). The Reaper swung his scythe, aiming the point for Nick's neck causing the Grimm to bring the bat up to meet him before it cut off his head. The downward motion their weapons created gave Nick enough of an opportunity to elbow the Reaper in the face; his mind barely registered the pain in his elbow as it met the Wesen's cheek.

It was at that moment that the second Reaper joined in, giving his comrade time to reorient himself. He swung at Nick, barely missing the detective's shoulder, and Nick took the opportunity to swing at him with the bat. He gained a hit on the Reaper's face, and then used his right leg to kick the Wesen's stomach, knocking him back into the same heater-like-machine that Nick had been backed against earlier. He faltered a little with all of his weight on his weakened and injured leg but he didn't let it slow him down.

He swung again, hitting the Reaper in the stomach then turned his attention to the first Reaper who was ready for another volley. The Wesen swung downwards where Nick met him with the bat, stopping him from tearing into his already injured leg.

It was a weak defensive point, however, because the Reaper used his position to bring his scythe upwards towards Nick's right, forcing the Grimm to try and adjust his hold without letting go. He managed, but only barely and was forced to release his hold on the next downward strike. The Reaper took that as his cue to renew his attack with vigor and swung at Nick's stomach with all his strength and speed.

Unable to do anything more, Nick jumped back to get out of the way, once, twice, three times in order to avoid getting slashed by the scythe. When he noticed that the Reaper was gearing up to deal its signature decapitating blow, Nick did the only thing he could think of – he threw himself to the ground.

It took all of forty seconds for him to figure out that the first Reaper had beheaded the second. The sickening sound of the head landing on the floor was his first clue, the headless body of the Reaper was his second; but the thing that really drove it home was the inhuman roar of rage that echoed from behind him.

Taking advantage of the lull, Nick grabbed the crossbow. He'd just scooted back to the heater-machine-thing when the first Reaper turned around, still howling in fury and whipped its scythe down at Nick. Without blinking, Nick fired the crossbow, aiming the arrow right into the Reaper's throat, effectively cutting off his bellowing as his lungs filled with blood. The Reaper fell to the floor to Nick's right, dead.

Nick sat with his back against the machine, panting heavily as the adrenaline slowly began to fade from his system. He leaned his head against the machine while he tried to calm his breathing, closing his eyes while he took a moment for himself. His heart was beating faster than it should be and he wanted to give it a moment to slow down.

Deciding it was time to get up and get the bodies taken care of (not to mention checking on Bud and his friends) Nick slowly got to his feet. He immediately collapsed with a cry of pain, landing hard on his left side. With all the excitement from the fight out of his system, he now felt the pain that scoured his lower left leg and the blood that still dripped down it.

"Nick?" Bud's worried voice called through the warehouse. "Nick, are you okay?"

Nick heard the scurrying of three pairs of footsteps as Bud and his two friends scampered through the warehouse, searching for him. He panted a bit as he waded through the pain, waiting for it to recede so that he could speak normally. Much to his dismay, it wasn't doing so very quickly.

"Nick! Oh, man, are you okay?" Bud queried as he came to sit in front of Nick. The Grimm smiled as Bud reached out with shaking hands as though to examine Nick's bleeding leg.

"Bud, relax, I'm fine."

"That doesn't look fine, that looks pretty bad," Bud countered, panicked but firm. He licked his lips nervously for a second, then reached out and spread the tear in Nick's jeans open, exposing the deep, jagged gash.

At first the wound was hard to see. Nick had his leg stretched out in front of him, thus hiding the injury. Gently, Bud rotated Nick's leg, pivoting it at the hip, and laid it down to rest on the outer side. The cut was long, spreading from the inside of Nick's knee down and across the back of his calf, ending just above the outside of his ankle

Bud and his friends gagged at the sight, looking anxiously from Nick's face to his leg and back. Nick sighed, able to tell that they were close to running around in panic. His hand noticeably shaking, he pulled out his phone and dialed the only person he could think of to call.

"Nick, hey!" Monroe's cheerful voice greeted after four rings. "Did that Eisbiber ever come forward?"

"Monroe, I need your help," Nick gritted through clenched teeth, ignoring his friend's question. Amazingly Bud had retained enough sense to try and apply first aid to Nick's leg and it was taking all of the Grimm's strength not to cry out in pain. As it was, he groaned deep in his throat and pushed his head against the machine to the point of pain; it wasn't a perfect system but it worked well enough to take his mind away from the searing heat in his leg.

There was a brief pause where Nick could tell Monroe had frozen, picking up on the sound of pain in his voice. Nick wanted to say something, anything that would assure his friend that he was alright, but he knew he couldn't do it. Not only would Monroe see right through the ruse but it wasn't exactly a part of their friendship to be so emotional, so he remained silent.

"Do you need help with the case?" Monroe asked, sounding as though he was perking up at the mention of help.

"Sort of," Nick ground out. He actually let out a short cry as Bud tied the makeshift bandage around his calf, applying pressure to the tender muscles and torn skin. The Eisbiber winced at Nick's cry, but gently lifted his leg onto a short box that had been found nearby.

"Nick? Nick, what's wrong?" Monroe asked, sounding alarmed.

"Monroe, I'm going to hand the phone over to Bud and let him tell you where we are. I'll need you to bring your emergency medical kit and a shovel."

Without another word, he handed the phone over to Bud and focused on riding out the pain that raced through his throbbing leg. His hands clenched and released as an outlet for the pain, slowing in their repetitions the more time passed. The elevation and bandaging helped, but it still stung like a mother.

He absently listened as Bud explained to Monroe where to find them, after assuring the Blutbad that Nick was, relatively, alright and would remain so until he arrived. Nick chuckled at his friend's worry. He appreciated it but it wasn't necessary since the injury wasn't life threatening.

Bud's two friends kept watch for Monroe or anyone else that may arrive, while Bud himself stuck close to Nick. It warmed the Grimm's heart how protective they were being of him while he was injured, but he highly doubted they would be of any use to him if another threat appeared.

As if taking that as their cue, footsteps echoed from just behind Nick and he felt Bud freeze in fright. Nick grabbed his gun, which Bud had retrieved earlier, and held it close to his right hip, preparing to fire if the need arose. His heart pounded in his ears as it responded to the renewed adrenaline, threatening to drive all sound out of his mind. He drew in a shallow breath, trying to calm his nerves so that he could focus. The pain in his leg and the realization that they were no longer alone was making it hard for him to remain calm, but he refused to give in to blind panic. He was a police officer for God's sake; he was trained to handle stress like this, even with injury.

Nick's mouth literally fell open when none other than Captain Sean Renard came into his line of sight. He was too stunned for a moment to realize that the look of his normal calm captain was nowhere to be found and instead a furious captain had replaced it. Beside him Bud immediately cowered and bowed, but Nick felt no need to do either.

Both police men swung their guns in the other's direction, one waiting for the other to figure out who they were. In the end it was Renard who'd lowered his gun first. Nick eventually followed, but it wasn't immediate. The Grimm instincts inside him were screaming at him to keep the weapon trained on the man, but eventually his detective's side kicked in and reminded him this was the Captain and not a threat.

For a minute, neither man spoke. Nick was too busy trying to comprehend _why _his captain was there and looking totally unsurprised to find Nick leaning against a machine in a warehouse with two dead bodies lying near him.

Renard, it seemed, was too busy inspecting the bodies. He looked at the one that still had its head, using his foot to turn the head so he could see the left side, before letting out a growl of something Nick _knew _to be Wesen.

Something akin to indignance, power, and fury slammed into Nick like a freight train punching through a thin sheet of glass. It knocked the breath out of Nick's lungs and sent his head spinning from the sheer force of it. He felt almost as though he'd been plunged into a deep, freezing river and he couldn't break the surface. He swallowed thickly, almost struggling to breathe regularly as he did his best to appear calm and collected while the police captain continued to inspect the Reapers' bodies.

"Did you kill them?" he asked Nick, low and cautious. He wouldn't look at Nick and that fact bothered the Grimm for reasons he couldn't explain.

"Yes," Nick replied, refusing to show remorse since he felt none. He attempted to straighten up so that he looked stronger than he felt, but stopped with a hiss when the movement put pressure on his wound.

Renard's head snapped over to Nick's position. The normal green hue had fled the irises, leaving a deep orange in its wake. In a strange way, it was almost beautiful to see the colors replace one another and Nick couldn't help but stare in wonder. The Captain's eye sockets seemed to elongate, helping to accentuate the no-longer-human-eyes, but if it hadn't been for Nick's abilities, he knew he wouldn't have noticed a thing. The eyes traveled over Nick's form, landing almost immediately on the bloodied bandage and the torn jeans.

"It appears they were able to get a shot of their own in as well, I see," he commented dryly. He turned so that his entire body was facing Nick and approached him as though he were an injured but dangerous animal. "May I take a look?"

Nick's first instinct was to very adamantly say no, but something kept him from saying it. He wasn't sure if it was the almost gentle way the Captain had asked or the fact that he'd seemed to be struck dumb by the man's appearance that had stopped him, but in the end, it hadn't mattered. As though he were a frightened child, too scared to speak to the adult, he simply nodded his assent.

With a nod of something Nick couldn't figure out, the Captain knelt down beside Nick's injured leg. He didn't seem to either notice or care that his expensive suite was getting dirty as he leaned over and began to gently finger the limb.

"The bandaging looks well placed," Renard commented as he gently inspected it. Thanks to the slight elevation, the bleeding had slowed considerably, but it had been sufficient enough at first to soak through the makeshift wrapping. The Captain looked up to where Bud was hiding just behind the machine and complimented him, "You did well."

"Th-thank you," Bud replied, stuttering just as much as he did when he was in Nick's presence. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Sire."

_Whoa! Wait a minute – sire? Who the hell was he calling sire? Couldn't be the Captain, could it? Oh, this mystery just keeps getting bigger and bigger, _he silently ranted, though Nick suspected Renard had been able to read it in his eyes.

"It needs re-bandaging," Renard announced as though he'd just made a diagnosis. He didn't even bother consulting Nick before he left and retrieved a kit from his car, wherever that had been, then came back. "How deep is the cut?"

"Uh, pretty deep, I think," Bud answered nervously. He was no longer hiding behind the machine, but his hands were wringing so much he could have performed surgery if he'd had a bar of soap with him. "I thought it best to stop the bleeding so I didn't really look that hard."

Renard nodded though he didn't reply. Gingerly, he moved Nick's leg from the uncomfortable box to a more comfortable position on his suit-covered thigh. He slowly removed the bandage, taking care not to re-open already clotted portions of the cut, then tossed the soaked linen away. It landed on the floor with a splat that made Bud flinch, but as far as Nick could tell, Renard took no notice of it.

He opened the small white box he'd retrieved and quickly spread some gel-like substance over the open wound before Nick had even had a chance to ask what it was. The accompanying burning sting, typical of raw alcohol in a wound, told him what it had been – antibiotic ointment. He hissed as the fire slowly spread from the surface of the cut down further until it charred his bones.

Though Renard's eyes briefly flicked upwards, he offered no apology for the pain he'd just caused. Nick figured it was because both of them knew that it was necessary to help prevent infection, so he did his best to downplay the pain by simply clenching his teeth instead.

Next, Renard withdrew a rather long piece of padded gauze and wrapped it around the entirety of Nick's lower leg.

"Come here and hold this in place so that I can continue," he instructed an uneasy Bud. Slowly the Beaver did as he was instructed; offering Nick a small wince of apology when he'd accidentally applied a bit too much pressure to the tender limb.

Renard's hands were steady as he skillfully wrapped a constriction bandage loosely around Nick's leg. As he watched, the Grimm found himself becoming almost mesmerized by the movement and the hands themselves (though he would never admit that to anyone out loud). They moved almost rhythmically as they worked; in and out, over and under, in and out, over and under. The hands were strong and able and the veins on the back stuck out just enough to be attractive.

"Ah!" Nick cried when one of the injured calf muscles decided to begin cramping. His entire body tensed as it responded to the nerves that were screaming their discomfort. He grunted out a breath as he rode the wave of pain, praying that the muscle would relax soon because he knew he couldn't take much more of it without shedding any tears.

When Nick heard a familiar growl, he did his best to relax his body. The Grimm knew that Monroe could smell the pain on him and he also knew that the Blutbad was protective of those he considered a friend. If Monroe thought the Captain was hurting him, things were bound to get bloody, so he tried to calm the man by showing that he was alright. Getting up to bodily protect Renard would, not only, not work given his injury, but he was pretty sure that the man would be highly offended and unappreciative of the movement so he knew it wasn't an option.

"Monroe!" he called in an effort to grab his friend's attention, but it was too late. The Blutbad was already charging at Renard, his teeth bared and red in his eyes.

In a flash of expensive clothing, Renard stood, rotated his torso and pulled out his gun all before Monroe had even had a chance to get close. Nick could tell that the action had been well-practiced; making him wonder how many times the man had had to do that. By the time Monroe had arrived at his target, Renard had his gun aimed squarely at his chest, making the clockmaker run painfully into the barrel before he could stop.

"I am not your enemy," Renard stated. Given that the Captain was facing away from Nick, he couldn't see the expression on the man's face, but if he had to guess, he would have said that it was the same expression he carried on his face everyday – calm indifference.

Monroe growled his answer. Apparently he wasn't convinced that the Captain hadn't been hurting Nick on purpose, so Nick felt he should intervene.

"Monroe, I'm fine," he said calmly, at least partially able to mean it. "Did you bring the shovel?"

It took a while but the red slowly faded from Monroe's eyes as he looked from the man holding him at gunpoint to Nick on the ground. Very briefly, Nick could have sworn that he saw recognition dawn in Monroe's now brownish-red eyes but he was at a loss as to how the two could possibly know one another. Then again, if Renard _was _a Wesen, it wouldn't be too hard to imagine that they had crossed paths at one time or another.

"Monroe, did you bring the shovel?" Nick asked again when his friend still hadn't looked at him.

As though snapping out of a daze, Monroe turned his attention to Nick and for a second, the Grim saw blood invade the brown eyes once again before they returned to their normal color.

"Yeah, man, I brought the shovel but, are you okayt?" Monroe asked in return. His eyes traveled down to Nick's slowly bleeding leg then slowly back up to Nick's face.

"I'm fine," Nick soothed, seeing anxiety in the Blutbad's eyes. He offered his trademark crooked smile, hoping it would help.

"Well, seeing that you are now in capable hands, I will go," Renard interjected but not uncomfortably. "I have some _business,_" the implications in the word made Nick shiver, "to take care of. Nick, you and I will talk when you're ready."

"Is that when _I _think I'm ready, or when _you _think I'm ready?" Nick asked, completely baffled at the hostility in his own voice. This was his captain for God's sake; the man could easily reassign him or just make his work life a living hell if Nick pissed him off. But, seeing as how Nick had always been the kind of guy to say what's on his mind when it came to things that were important to him, the words had tripped off his tongue without thought.

Amazingly, Renard just smiled, though it was only half filled with humor.

"When _you _are ready," he clarified. He started to walk away, paused then turned back around. "And don't bother showing up for work on Monday," he warned almost genially, "I already know you won't be allowed to work."

Nick's eyebrows rose into his hairline at what he thought may have been a small joke. "And what if I have a doctor's note?" he countered, wincing when he realized how flirty that had sounded.

"It doesn't matter," Renard replied. "Your boss won't let you get through the front doors."

With that he walked away, leaving Nick and company to stare at his back in confusion and wonder.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter introduces a Reaper that I personally named in my fic Vindictam de Tenebris. Whether that is his actual name or not, I have no clue but it's what I gave him. :-)**

**Also, I realize that the episode "Leave it to Beavers" took place after the holidays but I'm setting it in October instead because I love the fall and I love stories that are written in the Fall.**

* * *

**Part II**

"Dude, _he _is your boss?" Monroe exclaimed, mystified. "Do you even know who he is?"

"No Monroe, why don't you tell me," Nick sarcastically responded.

"He's The Guardian," Monroe supplied as though that explained everything. When the Grimm continued to stare at him unperturbed, the Blutbad continued with an eye roll, "He's the Protector of Portland. Also a bit of something else, which I won't tell you cause that's not my place, but, dude, he's a legend! Very few have actually met him and you, you've been working with him for what, two years?"

"Going on three," Nick replied absently. His mind still hadn't managed to wrap around the fact that _he _had killed two reapers in one fight, let alone that his _boss _was not only part of the Wesen world, but a legend in it.

Now both Bud and Monroe were staring at Nick with awe in their expressions. Nick shifted, uncomfortable with both the attention he was getting and the hard ground that was under his now aching body. Muscles unused to the exercise he'd just done were beginning to tighten, letting him know that he'd be lucky if the only thing that hurt in the morning was his leg.

In the silence, Nick heard Monroe sniff and he watched as the red from earlier leeched back into his friend's eyes. Monroe inhaled again, this time deeper than before, and closed his eyes as though savoring the smell in his nose.

"And that brings me to the reason I called," Nick said, knowing that Monroe had finally noticed the two dead Reapers not ten feet away.

"You mean other than to act as a nursemaid," Monroe countered with his usual humor.

"Yes, other than that," Nick granted, because at the time that was also his second motive. "Now, help me up." He held out a hand and waited for it to be grabbed.

"Nick, I don't think you should be standing just yet," Bud interjected worriedly.

Both Nick and Monroe slightly jumped at the Beaver's voice. Embarrassingly enough, they'd forgotten that he had been there.

"I appreciate the concern, Bud, but I'll be fine," Nick replied, still waiting for Monroe to help him up. But the Blutbad refused to help.

"I'm with the Eisbiber on this one," Monroe explained, looking down at Nick's injury and sniffing once again.

It unnerved Nick that his friend could tell how much he was still bleeding simply by inhaling, but he also knew that, at times, it could come in handy.

"The bleeding may have slowed, but the minute that you get upright all the blood will rush back down to the wound. Not only will that hurt but it will increase the bleeding once more," Monroe continued to explain in his normal no-nonsense, this-is-the-way-it-is manner. He looked down at the two Reapers and pointed at them, "So what do you want me to do with them?"

Nick chewed his lip. Until now, he hadn't actually considered what he wanted to do with the bodies. Anger swelled in his chest as he thought of the Reapers and their seemingly endless vendetta against him and his kind.

"They aren't going to stop coming, are they?" he asked no one in particular.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what they do."

Nick nodded, indicating he heard, though still somewhat lost in thought. With an inhale, he turned to Bud, and his two friends who had finally rejoined the group.

"Why don't you and your friends go home?" he suggested, not wanting any of them to be here for this. Not only did he not want to make them accomplices to something that could potentially get them killed but he also knew that they were uncomfortable being there in the first place. "Monroe and I can handle it from here."

Bud looked from Nick to Monroe and back again. His mouth opened as though to say something, then he shut it again. The entire process was repeated a few times before the Beaver actually gathered the courage to voice his thoughts. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Nick smiled, ignoring Monroe's surprised eyebrow raise. Beavers weren't uncaring in the least, but to form such an attachment to one that they all assumed was their enemy was a bit surprising to be sure. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm sure Monroe will make me go to a hospital to get checked out."

"Hell yeah," Monroe answered without missing a beat, making Nick roll his eyes and smile.

Again Bud looked from Nick to Monroe and back again before nodding, "Okay. But, call us if you need anything. My wife makes this really good salve, it heals practically everything, I swear. Oh and the quilt she made would be good to use if you get cold; I imagine you won't be up to being under a lot of blankets for awhile."

"Thanks Bud," Nick interjected quickly, knowing just how much the man could talk.

The Beaver nodded and stood up. He gathered his two friends in an armless grasp and herded them all out to the truck. Arnold opened his mouth as though to say something but shut it. Nick nodded, telling the frightened young man, "you're welcome," for the silent "thank you for the help" that he'd obviously wanted to say. Nick knew the man wasn't much younger than him, but the way he acted reminded the Grimm of the way a younger brother would act towards an older brother.

Once the three Eisbibers were gone, Nick began to position himself so that he could stand. He didn't care what Monroe or Bud thought, sitting on the ground for so long was getting uncomfortable and tiring.

"Whoa, whoa, what do you think you're doin? I told you to stay down, remember?" Monroe argued, rushing over to Nick's side, although not to help. He put a firm hand on Nick's chest to keep him from getting any further.

"Monroe, I am not going to sit around while you do all the heavy lifting-"

"-Really? Since when?" Monroe interrupted.

Nick glared at him but ignored the comment. "Are you gonna help me up or not?"

"Fine, yes, I'll help you up. Jeez, you must be one of the neediest Grimms I have ever met," Monroe complained as he firmly grabbed a hold of Nick's offered hand and pulled.

Nick head swam from the quick change in position, causing him to sway slightly. He put his hand to his head while he waited for things to settle and clear. In his opinion it took entirely too long for that to happen, but eventually he was able to look at Monroe in exasperation.

"Monroe, how many Grimms have you known?"

The Blutbad lowered his head, but not out of shame - it was at being caught over-exaggerating. "One," he answered. He walked over to Nick's injured side and slipped Nick's arm over his shoulder, giving the Grimm a crutch to lean on.

Knowing that his point had been made, Nick chuckled. The chuckle got cut short when circulation returned to his lower leg. The throbbing that had been barely noticeable before was now intensified by a factor of one-hundred, causing Nick's mouth to open in a silent exclamation of pain. His teeth clinked as his jaw snapped shut. He was doing his best to will himself to not make a sound, but he was quickly losing the battle.

"Gah," he finally groaned, hissing when he touched the toe of his shoe onto the floor. Instantly, the torn muscle in his calf flexed and the skin separated a little more.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you," Monroe warned when he saw that Nick was trying to place some weight on his leg. "So, now that you're standing, what exactly do you plan on doing?"

Nick opened his mouth to answer but stopped when he discovered that he actually didn't have one. His brows furrowed to become one unibrow as he contemplated his next move. He looked around, searching for something that could hold him up so that Monroe could discard the bodies and noticed an inactive machine just to his left.

"Help me over there," he instructed, nodding his head in the direction of the machine behind his friend.

"Great! Then what?" The Blutbad huffed a little as Nick leaned into him, but he supported Nick's weight without complaint.

"Well," Nick began, panting from the strain of having to essentially hop on one good leg, "I thought I'd hold myself upright while I, as you so eloquently put it, let you do the heavy lifting."

"Smart ass," Monroe retorted under his breath: as they were in such a close proximity, Nick heard it anyway. He laughed breathily at Monroe's comment, sounding much like he had when he'd been attacked by a Siegbarste.

The two friends slowly made their way over to the machine, both of them taking care not to injure Nick further. It was hard for Nick to not only allow Monroe to take most of his weight, but to not attempt to put weight on his leg; the limb instinctively went down to the ground to help him walk. He hissed a few times when the toe of his boot actually came into contact with the ground, earning a glare of annoyance from Monroe each time.

"You never said what you wanted to do with these guys," Monroe reminded him once Nick was supporting himself.

Nick nodded slowly, showing that he'd heard. Blue-grey eyes were transfixed on the body of the headless Reaper. It was a gruesome sight, but not enough for him to pull his gaze away. The blood had coagulated and clotted where the head had been severed, and Nick could only imagine the kind of fun some bugs would have if they simply left the body where it was. When his eyes locked on the head, Nick decided what needed to be done.

"We need to send them a message," he announced, grimacing when the pain in his leg spiked. Hopping to avoid putting pressure on the injury, Nick shifted a bit so that he was steadier on his foot. It was a little draining to stand there, supporting oneself on one leg, but he would be damned if he sat down again.

"Well, you know," Monroe began, picking up an abandoned scythe, "for sending a message, two heads are better than one."

And with that he swung the weapon down, cleanly slicing off the other Reaper's head.

When he was finished, he looked up at Nick, placing the scythe on his shoulder as though it was a pick-axe, and asked, "Now, what do we store them in?"

Captain Sean Renard walked into the Portland bar and headed straight to the very person he was there to see. His posture was erect and proud, spine straight and shoulders back without throwing out his chest. His expression was open and relaxed, but hazel green eyes focused on each and every Wesen in the place, daring them to do something they would regret. Several of the Lowen rumbled in their chests as he passed, but it only made Sean smirk. They still weren't happy with him for what he had done to Taymor.

"Why have you called me here?" a sneering French voice inquired. Leroux glared at Sean, annoyed at being summoned by the Protector.

"I want some information," Sean replied, sighing as he joined the Reaper at the table. "And who better to get it from than you."

Leroux offered a mocking smile of laughter, "Flattery will get you nowhere Captain."

"That wasn't flattery; that was a statement," Sean corrected, his normally soft voice a near growl. He in no way wanted this _thing_ to think he was trying to flatter it. There were few men Sean would try to flatter (a certain Nick Burkhardt being one of them) but the Reaper had never made the list. There were other ways of getting what he wanted.

A pang of loss stabbed through Sean's heart at the thought of his fallen soldier, Adalind. He knew he'd been harsh with the young woman, but it had been true – as of that moment, she had been of no further use to him. Still, he had appreciated her for more than her abilities as a Hexenbiest, though those had certainly mattered most. She was beautiful and she knew how to exploit that in her favor. Sean missed the way she did that with him, but he wasn't about to call her and admit it. Where was she nowadays? Was she still in Portland?

"What is it you want, _Regnant_?"

The word was spat out of the Reaper's mouth with so much scorn and disgust that it actually made Sean smile. Yes, he liked that the Reapers hated him, because it gave him a slight edge over them; he truly didn't care if they existed.

"I want to know why you sent two Reapers after my Grimm," Sean growled, his more possessive side coming to the fore. Though Nick only worked for him, the mere fact that he resided within Sean's Protectorate meant that he belonged to the captain. He hoped that Nick would be his in other ways later on down the road, but he wasn't going to push, either.

Nick. The thought of the Grimm filled Sean's head with images of the man. His beautiful blue-grey eyes that could dwarf the fiercest of storms when he was angry; his thick ebony hair that often trickled down the left side of his face, dripping little strands into the previously mentioned eyes; the prominent cheekbones that almost begged to be stroked with the back of a hand; his lips that often thinned when he was mad, but otherwise looked absolutely delicious to chew on.

In his memory, Nick smiled and Sean felt it warm his heart, spreading a sense of giddiness through his blood stream. Oh, that smile could light up a room and bring sunshine to the darkest day. Yes, Sean Renard, Captain of the Portland Police Department and Protector and Regnant of Portland was unashamedly in love with the resident Grimm, Detective Nicholas Burkhardt.

Sean squelched the urge to smile at the pleasant picture of the Grimm in his mind. He held his frown in place while he waited for Leroux's answer.

"I am sure I do not know what you are talking about, Captain," Leroux replied, yawning widely and glancing pointedly at his watch. It was clear that he had other plans, but Sean wasn't going to let him leave until he was absolutely sure that the Reaper was telling the truth.

"I'm talking about two Reapers – one of which you've sent before – coming to Portland, stalking, then attacking _my _Grimm," Sean hissed, barely refraining from grabbing the Reaper across from him and squeezing until he felt bones breaking.

Leroux raised one bushy, salt and pepper eyebrow. "I did not realize that he belonged to you."

"He is within my Protectorate, therefore he belongs to me," Sean summarized, taming the anger in his voice so that it sounded more like his usual off-handed factual tone.

"I see," Leroux replied. "Well, I can assure you, Captain, that if there are members of the Verrat in Portland, we did not send them here. And, once I discover who they are, they will be dealt with."

"They have already been dealt with," Sean replied with a cold smile.

"I should have known that you would kill them," Leroux sighed.

"I didn't kill them, the Grimm did."

Dark brown irises quickly fading to dandelion yellow snapped up to look into Sean's. The Reaper loosed a growl full of anger deep in his chest, the sound vibrating into the Regnant's.

"He is a threat and deserves to be dealt with," Leroux hissed through sharp teeth.

"He is only a threat to those that go after him. Had they not attacked him while he was trying to protect a witness, they might have left with their heads."

Another growl, this time deeper and louder, rumbled through the bar, grabbing the attention of all within.

Sean waited a moment, the satisfied smile firmly in place. Figuring that he had lingered long enough, the Captain stood, pushing his chair back with his legs.

"Well, I will leave you to your thoughts, but remember: so long as he remains within my canton, the Grimm is off limits."

He walked out, exuding the same power as when he walked in, this time with a cruel smile on his lips. It was probably wrong how much he'd enjoyed delivering that bit of news to Leroux, but he didn't care; in his business, wrong was almost always right.

Nick gingerly lowered himself into Monroe's VW Bug, biting his lip against the strain it put on his healthy muscles. He hissed when he accidentally rubbed the back of his calf against the seat, silently cursing the fact that Monroe had such a tiny car. While he could freely admit that he wouldn't be able to get into his truck yet, he didn't understand why such a tall guy as Monroe had to drive such a small vehicle.

"You okay?" Monroe inquired from his spot in the driver's seat.

"Yeah, I'm peachy," Nick snapped sarcastically. In all honesty, he was getting sick and tired of that stupid question, but he understood that if Monroe had had a better question to ask, he would have.

"Have you called Juliette yet? You know, to tell her what happened?"

Nick sat down in the car, breathing a sigh of relief and exhaustion as the worn seat absorbed his weight. He leaned his head back, resting it against the headrest and closing his eyes.

Oh God, Juliet. He hadn't even thought of calling her and he had no idea _what _he was going to tell her. How exactly was he going to explain this to her? What could he say? "Hey honey, sorry I'm late. My leg got sliced open by a scythe because there's an entire race that wants me dead." Yeah, no.

"You haven't, have you?"

"No," Nick sighed. "What am I going to tell her, Monroe? The truth?"

"Well, no; obviously you lie to her."

"That's just it! I'm sick of all the lying. We could be making wedding plans if I didn't have to constantly lie to her," Nick snapped, his emotions spilling out before he could stop them.

It had hurt when she'd said no to his proposal. In the back of his mind, he'd almost expected her to say no but that hadn't helped to cushion the blow to his pride and his heart. After he'd walked away from where she sat on the couch, Nick had let the tears flow, silently crying the pain out until he had nothing left to give. He knew she was right, though; they didn't have much of a future if he couldn't be honest with her. But would she really thank him for telling her the truth, or would she run?

Sure, she'd stayed with him through being attacked and kidnapped, but she'd been able to rationalize that as his job coming back to bite her in the ass. If he'd told her the real reason why she'd been kidnapped by a psychotic Daemonfuer and taken to a cave full of copper, he doubted she'd be as gracious as she had been that night. His heart sent a jolt of pain through his chest and Nick had to stifle a gasp at the sensation.

Monroe patiently waited for him to sort through his thoughts and feelings before he ventured, "What other choice do you have? You can't exactly tell her the truth, can you?"

With his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, Nick admitted something he'd known all along. "I have to if I want to keep her."

The silence that followed the announcement was profound and full of questions, questions Nick could hear Monroe sifting through, trying to decide which one to ask. His friend finally settled on the one Nick didn't want to think about, "And what if she doesn't like what she hears?"

Nick swallowed thickly, trying to move the lump in his throat. The very idea that Juliet would leave him brought tears to his eyes and made his chest constrict. His mouth opened so he could breathe through the pain that had nothing to do with the injury to his leg, his tongue running over the teeth in the back of his mouth.

"Then I'll have to let her go."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow! Thank you so much for the reviews everyone! I'm glad you are enjoying the fic so far. I hope this chapter is just as good as the previous ones. **

**Side note - I'm only going to be posting updates once a week so the next update will be next week. :-)**

* * *

**Part III**

Juliette Silverton D.V.M paced across her living room floor, anxious for her boyfriend to return. He'd called earlier to tell her that he was making sure a witness to a violent crime got home safely, then he would be home, but that had been hours ago. She knew Portland was a big city, but she also knew that it didn't take three hours to drive someone home, get them settled and then go home.

On her thirtieth trip across the room, her phone rang and Juliette vaulted over the coffee table just to get to it.

"Nick?" she answered, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. Her heart raced as she impatiently waited for his voice to come over the line, pounding so hard in her chest she would have swore Nick could hear it.

"Hey honey, I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm on my way home as we speak." She heard the sound of someone talking in the background and she frowned when she recognized the voice as Monroe's. "Okay, fine, _we _are on our way."

"We? Why is Monroe with you? When you called me earlier, you said that you were escorting a witness home." The confusion in her voice as she spoke couldn't be more real. Then the worry kicked in. "What's wrong?"

There was a pause while Nick obviously decided what he should say. "Okay, first, I'm fine."

"That doesn't sound like a good beginning," she replied, sitting down on the couch behind her as she silently prepared herself for the bad news she knew he was about to give.

"There was an accident while I was escorting the witness home, and I ended up having to go to the hospital."

The no-nonsense way he explained everything helped ease the worry that had increased when he'd said the word 'hospital', but considering she was already anxious that something bad had happened, it hadn't really worked like he'd obviously wanted.

"Hospital? Are you okay?"

"Juliette, I'm fine," he assured, even adding a smile to his voice. "I cut my calf pretty good, but a few stitches and I'm good to go."

"How bad are we talking?" she asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She had a feeling he was downplaying the 'few stitches' part of his speech a bit.

"About fifty?" he replied in more of a question than a statement.

"Fifty stitches," Juliette exclaimed, surprised. "And you're allowed to bear weight on the leg?"

She thought she heard Monroe snort, "I told you she wouldn't believe it," but she couldn't be sure. At any rate she was grateful that he was with Nick since Nick didn't seem too keen on taking care of himself.

"Well, no, of course not, but I'll only need the crutches for a week, until the stitches heal."

"It's going to take a week for fifty stitches to heal?" she countered. Though she wasn't a medical doctor, she knew that it took longer than a week for that many stitches to heal. "Was the cut superficial enough to heal that quickly?"

"Give me the phone," Monroe commanded over the phone. Juliette then heard Nick yelp in surprise at having his phone taken away before Monroe's voice came fully onto the line. "Hey Juliette, it's Monroe. Listen, we're almost to your house and when we get there, I'll repeat the doctor's orders."

Her head turned to the right when she thought she heard brakes squeal outside the door. She waited until she saw the sight of an old VW Bug pull up to the curb before she hung up the phone (while the boys were still on the other line) and opened to the door to walk out onto the porch. The night was cool, making her wrap her shawl further around her shoulders to guard against the chill. Her heart gave an extra painful beat when she saw Nick struggle to get out of the car while his friend, Monroe, grabbed a set of crutches from the backseat.

For the most part Nick was still mostly dressed. His left pant leg was split open from the inseam up to just above his thigh. White gauze wrapped itself almost snugly around his lower leg starting from the knee and going down around his heel. Beneath the gauze she could see a thick pad almost like that of a band-aid, winding around Nick's leg like a spiral staircase.

Juliette's brows furrowed. _What kind of accident could have caused this_?

Nick's friend Monroe looked perfectly fine. She could tell that he was annoyed and, knowing how bad a patient Nick could be, she didn't blame him. He had a backpack-like bag slung over his shoulder and a glare glued to his face.

Juliette fought her desire to run to Nick, choosing to wait for him to come to her instead so that she wouldn't embarrass him. Though she rarely showed it, she worried about Nick being in his profession, a lot. She worried about him getting hurt and (like most that dated or was married to cops) her biggest fear was that he would be killed while on duty. Seeing him crutching his way up the walkway did not help calm her fears. But her rational mind reminded her that, while he was hurt, it could be a lot worse.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the gentle breeze crawled up her spine as she remembered when Nick had been attacked in their house. Even now she still saw him lying in the hospital, bruised and helpless. Okay, so he hadn't been helpless since he'd had his gun, but he'd certainly looked it at the time. His bruised ribs had made him pretty immobile for awhile and she'd felt horrible for being thankful that he hadn't been allowed to return to work until almost four weeks after he'd been attacked. She'd enjoyed being able to being there for him, especially since he hadn't felt like _telling _her what he needed.

"Hey, you okay?" Nick's voice greeted with a half smile.

Juliette blinked and saw, to her surprise, that he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking at her with worry.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, pasting on a smile that felt so fake she could have been arrested for fraud.

Nick gave as good a shrug as he could while supporting himself on crutches and began the slow process of climbing the stairs. Again Juliette had to stifle the urge to help him, but this time it was so much harder to ignore. He struggled to maneuver his body up the stairs while precariously balancing on three legs. Every so often she saw his injured leg reach down to try and help, but he would just as quickly retract it with a wince.

Finally, Nick got inside the house and slowly making his way to the couch where he gingerly lowered himself onto the cushions. Monroe gave her a small smile as he passed her to follow Nick inside, but his eyes spoke his unease. Juliette sighed, closing her eyes in a silent prayer for patience, before following the two men inside.

She walked in to find Nick slowly elevating his leg onto the coffee table. The grimace on his face made her put her hand to her chest in hopes of erasing the pain the stabbed through it. Monroe remained standing, positioning himself at the far end of the couch, watching Nick try to position himself comfortably with hands on his hips.

"You might want to add a pillow," the tall man reminded Nick. The sarcasm in his tone made it clear that they both knew Nick already knew that, but apparently needed telling again.

Nick's eyes flashed towards Monroe in a glare and Juliette had to stifle a small chuckle. Yep, Nick was already getting tired of the mother-henning. Still, her lover did as was suggested and passive aggressively grabbed one of the throw pillows, tossing it onto the coffee table then used his right leg to position it under his left. He grimaced when his calf pushed against the pillow, but the pain must have been brief because the expression didn't last.

For awhile no one spoke. They simply stood in the silence, awkwardly staring at one another, or Nick who had his eyes closed and his head leaning against the back of the couch.

"Uh, Monroe would you like something to drink? We have tea, water, or coffee."

"No, thank you. I probably won't be staying long," Monroe replied.

Juliette gave him an uneasy smile and nodded. She did her best not to stare expectantly at the man but it didn't work. He'd mentioned filling her in on the doctor's orders and she wanted to make sure that he did it before he left.

His brown eyes met her blue-green, both communicating but each saying something different. She could see that he was wondering why she was staring at him so she decided to try and help him figure it out. She flicked her eyes from him, to Nick sitting on the couch and back again, repeating the process several times when it appeared as though he hadn't understood what she'd been trying to say.

Monroe cocked his head to his right, following her glance over to Nick then back at her. His eyebrows were wrinkled in confusion as he followed her gaze, obviously trying to work through what she was trying to get at. Recognition dawned on his face in the form of wider eyes and a mouth open in the form of an 'o'. But still he remained silent. He looked at Nick once more to make sure that he was still resting, and then hitched his head in Nick's direction, hinting that he wanted him out of the room before he started talking.

"Is anyone hungry? I haven't eaten yet and thought I would make some ravioli," Juliette said, understanding what Monroe was trying to say. She saw him give her a look of, 'that's not what I meant,' but she ignored it. If she was going to send Nick upstairs possibly for the night, she was going to make sure he didn't need anything first.

"I'm good," Monroe declined earning a surprised eyebrow raise from the man on the couch.

"Okay. Nick?" Juliette asked knowing full well that he was still awake.

"Uh, I'm okay," he replied, keeping his eyes closed. He looked positively exhausted and it made Juliette wonder what exactly had happened tonight. Even after a tough case, Nick never looked this tired. The only times he ever came home and went straight to bed was after the day had been physically draining.

"You should probably fall asleep in your bed," Monroe commented, though his meaning was clear.

"I'm good here," Nick argued, obviously not wanting to get up again.

Monroe once again cocked his head to the side, this time studying the position Nick was in and Juliette couldn't help but join him. Nick was slouched on the couch, his back never touching any part of the cushion. His head and neck were leaned backwards, supporting his torso in a way that looked uncomfortable. Both of his legs were on the coffee table. The injured one was supported by a throw pillow.

Overall, she didn't think that that position looked particularly comfortable either, but she remained silent, thinking that Monroe was about to remedy the entire thing.

"You can't sleep there man, you'll wake up with a sore neck and back," Monroe argued back. Nick gave a shrug, but it was halfhearted. Monroe shared a look with her but it was one she couldn't interpret. It wasn't until he walked over to where Nick lay, and scooped him up like a sleepy child that she figured out what he'd been planning and that was only because by then it had been obvious.

"Hey!" Nick squeaked in alarm. His blue-grey eyes were now open and glaring daggers at his friend. "Monroe put me down; I can get there by myself."

"You could, but you wouldn't and I'm not going to listen to you complain about your back hurting tomorrow."

Juliette frowned, though neither man could see it. Would Monroe be hanging around tomorrow? Maybe he wanted to be around to make sure Nick followed doctor's orders. But that's what she was here for. It was a Saturday after all – she had the day off. Maybe he didn't know that?

"Well, luckily you won't have to worry about that," Nick countered with a somewhat cocky smile on his face.

"Then I'm saving Juliette," Monroe countered just as he reached the top of the stairs. He stopped, looking down at Nick for directions to the bedroom. But Nick remained defiant and refused to give them.

"It's to the left, the only room on that side," Juliette supplied, refusing to allow Nick to sleep on the couch. She followed the two men to the bedroom, watching as Monroe gently lowered Nick onto the bed. Nick grimaced a little when Monroe's arm applied pressure to his injured leg, but otherwise he made no sound, making sure to keep his unhappy glare glued to his friend.

Monroe stood up straight and looked at Juliette, "He's all yours. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

"Thanks," Juliette replied with a smile. "There's some coffee in the kitchen if you want some."

Monroe nodded then looked down at Nick. "Be good," he instructed as though Nick was a small child spending a night away from its parents.

"I'm not a child," Nick retorted, coming to the same conclusion about Monroe's tone as Juliette.

"Really? I wouldn't have known that by the way you've been behaving since we arrived at the hospital," Monroe returned. He sighed and walked out of the bedroom, leaving Nick and Juliette alone.

"You really should try to be nicer to him," Juliette said as she sat down on her side of the bed.

Nick snorted, "He'd probably think something was wrong with me if I didn't give him a hard time about something."

She silently watched him scoot down so that he was lying down rather than sitting up. He grimaced a few times, but he never asked for help. Were all men this stubborn? Once he was flat, he turned to his right so that he was lying on his side and facing her.

"I'm sorry I worried you," he apologized, running his hand over the side of her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked, hoping he would give her a straight answer this time.

"Considering what could have happened, I'm fine," he replied not answering her question at all.

"What did happen, exactly?" she asked out of both concern and curiosity. "And how badly is your leg injured?"

He sighed and dropped his hand down to the bed. When he rolled over onto his back and put his hand to his forehead, she frowned at the withdrawal. He sat up once again, his breath hitching when he dragged his legs instead of using or lifting them, and turned to lean on the right side of his body so that he was once again facing her.

Knowing that whatever he was about to say was important to him, Juliette remained silent and attentive. When he grabbed her right hand, she gave his a small squeeze, telling him that she was there, no matter what.

"Let's start with the easy question, shall we?" he asked in a small joke. His uneasy smile belied his tone, though, so Juliette knew he was nervous. "Essentially, it's a knife wound."

Juliette's mouth fell open. She knew that he often came into contact with dangerous criminals, but how had one managed to slice his leg open from, what appeared to be, his knee down to his ankle?

Now that she was closer she could see small patches of blood seeping through the bandages. At first it looked new, as if it had leaked through the many stitches he'd received. But upon closer inspection with a trained eye, she could tell that all the stains were dried. Little speckles of it dotted the bandaging around his calf, looking like someone had taken a small paintbrush and had flecked it over the muscle. The biggest spots were the inside of his knee and the outside of his ankle; she assumed that he hadn't needed stitches in those places, thus the bigger patches of dried blood.

"And before you ask, I will explain what I mean by that later," Nick continued hastily, anticipating her question before it came out of her mouth. "The cut was deepest over the calf," he lowered his eyes as though he didn't want to say the next part, "cutting a little into the muscle."

Surprised didn't even come close to describing the gasp that had come out of her mouth then – horrified was more like it. Her hand flew to her mouth in an effort to quiet the sound, but when she saw Nick wince, she knew it hadn't worked.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," he hurried to explain, "really. I was surprised to learn that it was that bad as well."

Tears formed in her blue-green eyes as she imagined the amount of pain he must have been in, but she knew that even her best imaginings wouldn't reach the mark. She'd had stitches before but the cut hadn't been anywhere near as deep; it had been superficial compared to this.

"So, some of the stitches are internal?" she asked trying to stop herself from crying in sympathy.

"No," Nick answered immediately, "No, the doctors say that the muscle will heal itself in time."

It was then that an idea struck Juliette. "Shouldn't you have your leg elevated?" she asked, knowing from experience the treatment for a torn muscle. He blushed in response to her answer and she sighed, grabbing one of her spare pillows for him to use. She thought of putting the pillow under his leg herself, but she decided that would be a bit much so she just handed it to him and waited until he was done.

A part of her also wanted to ask if he needed some ice but another part, the more selfish part, held her off. She knew he was planning on telling her whatever he'd been hiding and she didn't want to give him a chance to change his mind, even if it meant that he was in a bit of discomfort for a little while. If she had to guess, Juliette would say that he'd received some form of pain medication while at the hospital so she didn't think he could feel the pain right now anyways.

"Well, so much for the easy part," Nick commented with a sigh as he grabbed her hand within his again. His eyes darted around the room as though he was looking for an exit should he need it. She knew that he wouldn't make it even if he tried. His position on the bed looked awkward to her and she wondered if he was actually comfortable. Since he was turned to his right, his hips were pivoted so that both of his legs lay on their sides. She supposed it helped prevent him from putting pressure directly on the site of his injury but even still, it would drive her crazy to sit like that.

Through the silence of the house, Juliette could hear Nick's breathing begin to speed up. It wasn't too terribly fast yet, but knowing Nick as well as she did, she knew that he was nervous and slowly beginning to panic.

"There are some things I haven't told you," he slowly began, panting ever so slightly. "Things about Aunt Marie, about my parents, and about me that I didn't even know about until Aunt Marie came to visit." She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off, "Just, please hear me out? I'm sure that when I'm done you'll think I'm crazy, but I assure you this is all real."

"Nick, you're starting to worry me," Juliette said, stating the truth.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, withdrawing from her once again. He turned and shifted so he was sitting upright against the headboard with the pillow supporting his leg sitting under his heel. "I come from an old bloodline, one that is well known. My ancestors were one of the original Brothers Grimm."

Juliette's eyes widened in surprise, "That's amazing."

"It is and it isn't," Nick replied vaguely, still not facing her. "What would you say if I told you that their stories are real?"

"I'd say, 'have you been drinking?'"

Nick laughed, mirthless and cold. She could see that he wasn't angry by her reply, but she also knew that he hadn't found it funny either. There was such unease in the way his eyes would slowly turn towards her then go to stare back at the ceiling that she wondered if he was serious. But he couldn't be; everyone knows that those stories are just fairytale fiction. Weren't they?

"You can't be serious," she said disbelievingly. He gave her a slight wince and an even slighter head nod telling her that yes, he was serious. "But everyone knows that those are just stories."

"No they're not," Nick replied with so much sorrow in his voice that she could hear his heart sinking to his stomach. "I've seen them, the creatures from the stories. The first case I worked on while my aunt was visiting involved the big, bad wolf kidnapping a little girl. The one where Hank had gotten stung by a bee involved actual bee-like creatures. The man that attacked me to get to Hank had been an ogre."

"Nick stop, this isn't funny," Juliette scolded, hoping he was joking.

"Believe me I wish this was some weird practical joke but it's not," Nick replied sounding almost desperate. "As a collective, they are called Wesen. Those that are descended from the Brothers Grimm are called Grimms and there is a group or a race out there called Reapers whose sole purpose in life, it seems, is to hunt down Grimms and kill them."

"So, you're saying that there are creatures out there disguised as humans and only you can see them? And that you often run into them while on a case all the while dodging these Reapers who are out to kill you?"

"Yeah," Nick answered, looking at her hopefully.

"I-I," Juliette replied stunned. "I'm sorry Nick but I don't know what to say. Your story sounds like one elaborate lie told by a child to cover up for something he's done wrong."

"I know it does but it's not. It's all true, I promise. Though, the Wesen can see each other so I'm not the only one who can see them but I am the only human, in Portland, who can."

Juliette held her hands up in a stop motion. "Please tell me you're kidding," she asked. When he remained silent, she asked him again, "Please tell me you're kidding." When his silence remained, she got off the bed and paced.

There was no way what he was saying was real! But then again, she couldn't remember him looking more sincere than he did right now. By now she could tell when he's lying and when he's not, and she definitely knew that he was telling the truth; well, at least the truth as _he _believed it.

The thought that he was simply messing with her for turning down his proposal had crossed her mind but she knew Nick, and he wasn't vindictive like that. She knew that she had hurt him, badly, when she'd said no, but she had also believed every word she'd told him. Until he opened up to her and told her what was going on with him, she couldn't say yes.

She stopped pacing as an idea crawled into her brain. Could that be what he's doing? Could he possibly be telling her the actual, factual truth, letting her in so that she would say yes? Or is he just fabricating some unbelievable story so that he could say he'd told her what was going on so she'd say yes?

Turning so that she was facing Nick on the bed, she prepared herself to ask a question she knew would hurt him. "Are you just making all this up so that I'll agree to marry you?"

The anxious look on his face instantly changed to one of stunned disbelief. In that moment she could see the pain she'd caused reflecting in his pale eyes as clearly as she could see her hand in front of her. Her heart broke at the sight and tears filled her eyes. She wanted so much to take the question back but she needed to know.

What she didn't expect to see was the dark expression that soon covered his face. It looked as though his skin tone had literally gotten darker leaving only his pale eyes to stare at her like ice cold irises of fury. She knew he had a right to be angry but this, this was something else entirely. It felt as though some sort of invisible wave had crashed into her, wrapping around her and slowly drowning her in it. She was suddenly filled with the desire to run rather than face the possibility that his next words would break her heart but she remained firm, refusing to give in.

"I can't believe that's what you think," he said so quietly she had to strain to hear him. "Why would I lie to you to get you to marry me, when lies are the reason why you _won't _marry me?"

"I don't know," she replied begging him to understand her position. "I'm just trying to figure this out. I'm finding it hard to believe that the supernatural is real and you're smack dab in the middle of it. The only thing I could think of to explain the story was that you were trying to get me to marry you."

"I would never do that," he whispered with a chill in his voice. And damn it if those weren't tears beginning to stream down his cheeks.

Juliette chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to think of a way to fix this, but she couldn't. The only solution she could come up with was one that would look like she was giving in the proverbial towel. She settled for going halfway.

"I think it's best if I sleep in the guest bedroom," she proposed. More tears leaked down his cheeks but he didn't blink, he didn't nod, it didn't even look like he'd heard her. "I need some time alone to think, and I don't want to accidentally hurt you while I'm sleeping either."

She hoped that adding the last bit would help ease everything he was feeling but true though it may be, she doubted it would. He'd done exactly as she had asked; he'd trusted her, given her the piece of himself that he'd been hiding (whether real or imaginary) and she'd betrayed that by questioning his integrity and intentions.

"Sounds good," he conceded hoarsely. He cleared his throat then spoke again, "Could you do me a favor before you go?"

"Sure, what do you need?" _Other than me to stay because I can't do that tonight, _her mind added when her mouth wouldn't.

"Monroe left the crutches downstairs; I'm gonna need them if I want to get out of the bed."

She nodded, "I'll go get them. Anything else?"

"No, thanks," he replied but she doubted if he was telling the truth. Still, she'd accused him of lying enough for one night, so she wasn't about to do it some more.

Quietly, she walked downstairs to grab the crutches. The smell of coffee reminded her that Monroe had been down here waiting for her to come down. Oh God, had he heard everything that Nick had said?

Instantly she went into the kitchen to find him, but found it to be empty. After a quick stroll around the entire first floor, she discovered that he wasn't in the house. She peered out the door to see if his car was still there and it wasn't. When had he left? How had he left without her or Nick noticing?

Juliette strolled back into the living room to grab Nick's crutches then went to take them up to Nick. She stopped when she saw a note stuck to the door. Man, she must really be out of it tonight not to have noticed that when she went to look outside for him!

_Juliette,_

_I'm guessing that since you haven't come down yet that you and Nick are talking. It's good, you two need to clear the air, but it makes for a lengthy conversation that I don't want to wait around for it to be finished so I'm writing you a note instead. _

_In the bag on the couch are Nick's shoe and sock and the doctor's written instructions along with a prescription; it's just a topical ointment to spread over the stitches to prevent the skin from drying out and itching. He should be fine with Advil or aspirin if he's in pain. _

_Now, I know what Nick has said to you and I know that right now you think he's making it all up, but believe me, he isn't. All that he's said is real. _

_That said, I do understand if you can't accept it. All that I ask, if I have the right, is that you make it a clean break. Don't drag him along for the ride so that he ends up more bruised and broken than he is right now. _

_I would say 'sincerely' or something like that but I don't know you that well, so, yeah. _

_Monroe_

Juliette folded the letter up and put it in her jeans pocket. Tears were now falling down her cheeks so she wiped them away before going back upstairs. She didn't want Nick to see them, nor did she want him to know about the letter his friend had written. She knew he would fee betrayed that Monroe had left such a note and she didn't want that for either them.

Blowing out a shaky breath, she began to climb the stairs, wishing she could rewind the night and do it over again because whatever she had expected to come from this night, it hadn't been this.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**SO sorry this took so long to post.. My muse has run away and so I've been ignoring the internet.. She came back briefly today so I'm trying to take advantage of her while I can.. **

**Hope you like this chapter! **

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**Part IV**

Dawning morning sun streamed brightly through the window, streaking yellow rays across the wood floor before coming to rest on the top of the bed. Nick's foot twitched under the heat, his nerves alerting him that it was time to wake up. Seeing as he's only been asleep for three hours, he tried to ignore the internal alarm clock, but it was to no avail. Resulting from years of training, his eyes slowly began to open.

If it wasn't for the growing sense of dread in his heart, he would have thought that nothing had changed and that Juliette had simply gone to bed early. But he knew that wasn't true; he could hear her moving in the room on the other side of the house. His heart broke into pieces when he realized what her separation meant.

She was going to leave him.

He'd known it the minute he'd opened his mouth last night that this was going to happen (hell, he'd known this was going to happen before he'd even got home last night), but he'd still managed to hope that she would stay. When she'd accused him of making the entire thing up so she would marry him, it had been a dagger to his soul, driving sharp shards of pain through his body and right into his heart. He could still feel the residue of agony poisoning his blood as it swept through his body.

Deciding that he might as well get up and start the day, Nick slowly began to maneuver his legs off the bed and onto the floor. Immense throbbing had taken up residence in his calf sometime during the night and it only intensified when he placed his foot on the floor. He groaned deep in his throat, clenching his teeth against the spike in pain.

"Nick," Juliette's sweet voice called hesitantly. He heard the concern in her voice, but ignored it knowing it wasn't going to change anything. She appeared in the doorway, wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Her beautiful red hair was pulled back into loose bun, with several strands falling around to encompass her face. "Hey, you okay?"

Nick couldn't stop the hollow laugh that escaped his throat because no, he was in no way okay and he knew she knew that. He grabbed the crutches that she'd placed against the wall the night before, and pulled them towards him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied as he stood, using the action to account for the slight growl in his voice. He paused to breathe and allow the pain in his leg to calm before he started toward the bathroom, moving passed Juliette who remained in the doorway.

When he came back out, Juliette was sitting on her side of the bed – which had been made in his absence – with a look of mourning on her face and tears in her eyes. He stopped, feeling the breath leave his lungs at the sight. He crutched over to the armchair in the corner and sat down in it before he fell over.

"We need to talk," she gently said, as though the tone of her voice could soften the blow of her words.

"You're leaving," Nick finished for her. The mourning tone in her voice seeped into his as he spoke, spreading a mist of sadness throughout the room.

"Yes," she whispered sounding as hurt by the decision as he was.

Nick nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat that threatened to cut off his air supply. If he trusted himself to speak, he would have said something, but he didn't; he would only end up saying something that would hurt them both worse and they didn't need that.

"When do you leave?" he asked, finally. Tears began to cloud his vision which was just as well. He didn't think he could look at her right now for fear of what it would do to him. When they began to rain down his cheeks, he bowed his head, hoping she didn't see it.

"I'm going to begin this weekend and I should be out by Monday."

_Good ol' Juliette, _his mind interjected, _always prepared; even when ending a long-time relationship. _

When he opened his mouth to reply, he found that his voice failed him so he closed it again, settling for another nod.

"Do you need any help?" God help him, was he really offering to help her move out?

She laughed a little at his question, "As much fun as that would be, I don't think you would be able to do much with your injured leg."

"True," he said, giving a little chuckle himself. Maybe he should send the Reapers a thank you note along with his other one. If it hadn't been for them cutting his leg, he would actually be physically able to help his girlfriend move out. He thought about it for a moment before scratching the idea completely – if it hadn't been for them, he wouldn't have thought of telling her everything in the first place.

"I could," he cleared his throat, finding it unbelievable that he was offering to do this, "help you pack."

"I appreciate that," she replied with a soft smile on her face, "but I've got it. I'll try to be out of your hair as soon as possible."

"Don't worry about it," he managed to choke out as more tears trickled down. She was trying to make this easier on him? Really? Shouldn't she know that no matter how slowly or quickly she goes, it's still going to hurt?

Uncomfortable silence filed the room, settling over them like a black cloud that wouldn't leave. Neither Juliette nor Nick spoke; they didn't know what to say. Juliette sat on the bed with her arms wrapped around her chest, hugging herself in obvious hopes that it would make her feel better. Her eyes were red and puffy – a mirror image to Nick's no doubt – and tear tracks stained her beautiful face. He watched as she shivered from a silent sob, making him wish he could provide some sort of comfort for the both of them.

But there was no comfort to be had. This entire thing had been dragged out for far too long and Nick knew it. He hadn't wanted to believe his aunt when she'd said that he needed to break up with Juliette; he'd tried to do everything he could to balance his two lives. But constantly living in between two worlds never worked for anyone because eventually they would collide and someone would always end up getting hurt. He'd caused this break-up just as much as she had and they both knew it.

After God only knows how long, Juliette cleared her throat.

"I'm going to make some coffee; do you want me to bring you some?"

"No, thanks, I'll come down and get it." She opened her mouth to say something then closed it, but he had no problem hearing her unasked question. "I'll be fine on the stairs, I promise."

She nodded, looking doubtful still, and got up to leave. Without looking back at him, she walked out the door and headed downstairs.

Nick watched her go knowing that he would have to watch this happen one more time before he would be left alone for good, and it shattered what remaining piece of his heart he had left. Once he knew she wasn't within ear shot, he let the tears really fall. Sobs wracked his body, threatening to shake it apart with their violence. The pounding pain coming from his leg only helped to drive the tears harder and soon he was letting out every emotion he could feel while sitting in the armchair, completely unaware that Juliette was doing the exact same thing one floor below him.

Only once Nick's throat was so raw from crying that it hurt to breathe did he stand up and get ready to join Juliette in the kitchen. He couldn't believe how hard it was to get dressed with only one leg, but by the time he was done he'd managed to slip on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. The really hard part came when he tried to put socks on.

Giving that he probably wasn't going to be going anywhere, Nick really didn't need socks, but it was still kind of cold in Portland and Nick's feet were already getting chilled just from being out of bed. Getting a sock on the healthy leg was easy compared to the injured one; the diagonal direction of the cut made it hard to lay his calf across his thigh without causing pain to spike in the muscles. The ending cut by his ankle was beginning to scab over but it was still tender, making bending the joint uncomfortable and a little painful. Not wanting to aggravate or annoy the stitches and bandaging, Nick opted for ankle socks instead of his normal crew ones.

Once finished with getting dressed, Nick debated putting shoes on, at least on his right foot, but he decided against it. It was going to be a lot easier to pretend that he was fine if he had two socked feet rather than one socked and one shoed. After heading to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, he headed out to the hall.

Getting down the stairs felt like a circus act complete with impossible looking tricks and painful winces you gave when watching lions get threatened with whips. With his foot finally on the first floor, Nick began heading towards the kitchen. He stopped cold when he heard Juliette's sobs echoing from the room.

God, he did not need to hear that!

As silently as he could, he crutched over to where she stood with her back to the kitchen doorway. Her hair had been lowered out of the confines of the bun, and now trailed over her shoulders and down her back. She leaned on the counter with her head buried in her hands. Abandoning his crutches against the countertop to his right, Nick enveloped her in a big, somewhat unsteady, hug.

The effect was immediate. She curled into his side, burying her face into his chest and continued to cry. He fell slightly off balance from the sheer force of her clinging then winced when he instinctively put his left foot down to steady himself. His hands went to her head, stroking her hair in the way he usually did when she was upset and needing comfort from him.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized, owning up to the part he played in their break-up. He continued to stroke her hair, gently dragging his fingers through some of the tangles in it. As usual he wanted to beg her to stop crying because his heart couldn't take the sound, but just like the times before, he didn't do it. He felt he deserved the pain he received this time; it was his punishment for hurting her like he had.

"So am I," she said into his drenched tee shirt. He didn't bother pretending that he didn't know what she was referring to; they knew this was killing both of them and they both knew she had hurt him last night with her words. He simply held her tighter, forgiving her through the hug.

A knock on the door brought them back down to reality with a painful thud. Juliette withdrew from him, carefully disentangling herself from his arms. His left hand instantly flew out to the counter to balance himself so he wouldn't fall over.

"I called some friends to come over and help," she said, handing him his crutches so he wasn't dependent on the counter. "That's probably them at the door."

Nick nodded that he'd heard then watched her walk out of the kitchen to get the door. He jumped when he heard her call his name, followed by the sound of her shoes heading back to the kitchen.

"Door's for you," she said with a quizzical look on her face. "It's the refrigerator repair guy. He said that he has something for you, to thank you for helping him out with something."

"Ah," he said as he slowly started making his way to the door, each step jarring his hurting leg. "The person I escorted home last night was his friend," he explained as he passed her.

"Bud, hey," he greeted with a smile as he went to the open door. The morning air was crisp and chilly as it slowly swept into the house. "Do you want to come in?"

"Nick, hey! Yes, thank you. How are you doing? You look better," Bud lightly rambled as he stepped into the entryway and closed the door. Nick noticed that there was nothing in his hands as he moved, making him wonder if the man really had something for him or if he just wanted to stop by and check on Nick.

"Thanks Bud, I'm feeling better," Nick replied, awkwardly stepping backwards to give the Eisbiber some room.

"Good, I'm glad to hear that. How's your leg?" He looked down at the leg in question as he asked. Almost out of habit, his hands went to his pockets and began fiddling with something inside them. So he _did _have something to give Nick! He quickly looked back up, the expression on his face one of embarrassment and unease. "Still hurts huh?"

"It's fine Bud, thanks," Nick waved off, not liking the idea of discussing his injury with a man he was slowly coming to think of as a friend. He barely did that with Juliette let alone anyone else. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Yes, uh, I mean, no, no thank you Nick, I just stopped by to bring you some of that salve I was telling you about and some thank you gifts from everybody at the Lodge."

"You went to a lodge?" Juliette asked, her girlfriend side flaring briefly.

"Yeah, I met Bud there the other night to talk to some of his friends; I thought I could find the guy who'd witnessed a murder there and Bud was kind enough to invite me in," Nick answered quickly in his normal no-nonsense tone he used when explaining things to his would-be wife. He sighed, feeling tired from the standing and balancing. "Do you need any help bringing the gifts in?" he asked Bud.

"Uh, no, no I can get it. You should probably be sitting down anyways," the Beaver answered, using his hands to point at Nick then the couch to Bud's right.

Nick looked from Bud to Juliette, debating if he could get away with not sitting on the couch while Bud did all the lifting and delivering. Upon seeing determination in both of their eyes, he knew he wouldn't be able to, so he sighed and went into the living room to sit down. He released a silent sigh of relief as he raised his leg to rest on top of the coffee table.

"Great, I'll just go get the stuff, okay?"

"Do you need any help?" Juliette asked out of politeness alone.

"No. Thank you, but I've got it. You just go about your lives like I'm not even here." He left before Juliette could say anything else, leaving her looking a little stunned. He quickly returned, holding out a small, round can and giving it to Juliette, "Before I forget, here. It's a salve that my wife makes; heals almost anything. Not right away, of course, but it does help, trust me."

Just like before, he left before Juliette had had a chance to respond. She looked down at the can in her hands, turning it over and over a few times before tossing it at Nick.

"I suppose _you'll _need that more than me," she said with a small smile in her voice. Nick did his best to smile in return, but it wasn't genuine and they both knew it.

"Well, I guess I'd better get packing," she said on an inhale, the sadness from before once again coming into her eyes.

"Yeah, okay, I'll stay down here."

"Thanks," she said, then turned and went upstairs to pack as much of her stuff as she could in their suitcases.

Bud came back in a few seconds later, huffing and puffing as he carried in a bushel of apples with a brown package that looked like another quilt on top. Nick's first instinct was to jump up and help, but the moment he lowered his leg to the floor, pain pulsed hot and fierce through the muscle, so he placed it back on the table.

Without a word, Bud disappeared back through the door to go get more. It took twice as long as the first time for him to come back and when he did he looked noticeably uncomfortable.

"Hey, uh, Nick? There are some people here. They say they're here to help Juliette move out?"

Nick sighed. He really didn't want Bud to be here when they'd arrived. It was depressing enough to have Juliette actually leaving; he didn't need to have Bud here to witness it too.

"Go ahead and let them in," he instructed with a defeated sigh. He waited a few seconds before he grabbed his crutches and stood up, wincing when his leg voiced its displeasure about the lack of elevation. He really needed to take some Advil, but he didn't want to go upstairs to get it. He'd just made it to the door when Juliette's (and Nick's he supposed) friends came through the door.

Derek Jacobson, Blake Norton, and Jessica Fields walked into the foyer, looking uncomfortable and only at the floor. They each carried a "gift" from Bud and his friends.

"Where do you want these?" Derek, the biggest one of them, asked, holding up yet another bushel of apples. His tone was almost angry, but in his brown eyes, Nick saw the apology that the muscular man wouldn't voice.

"Uh, just put it over there," Nick replied, pointing at a vacant spot by the wall where the first was.

Blake and Jessica followed Derek's lead and placed their armloads (two pies, two quilts, and several jars of what appeared to be homemade jam) down next to the apples. Both Blake and Jessica offered silent apologies as well when they turned back around.

Once upon a time all five of them had been really good friends. Blake, Derek and Jessica were old friends of Juliette's from college, but after a few nights out filled with food and drinks they grew close to Nick as well. He'd called on both Derek and Blake a few times when he wanted just to have a beer with the guys. He'd never hung out with Jessica unless Juliette was there but he knew he could have if he'd wanted to.

They all stood in the foyer staring uncomfortably at each other and waiting for someone to speak. None of them knew what to say that wouldn't make things more uncomfortable so they all remained silent.

"What happened to your leg?" Jessica asked after standing awkwardly for three minutes. Her voice was curious but he could hear the concern in it as well.

"Work accident," Nick answered trying to be as truthful as he could without actually telling the truth. "A suspect got the drop on me and caught my leg with his knife."

"Ouch," both Blake and Derek sympathized with winces.

"How badly were you injured?" Jessica asked once again out of concern and curiosity.

"Not badly," Nick replied. "It definitely could have been worse. I've been told to stay off it for a week then start bearing weight as pain allows."

Jessica's perfectly manicured blond eyebrows drew together. "That sounds like treatment for a muscle tear," she said, "Exactly how deep did this cut go?"

Nick smiled at her, wondering how she knew that's what the treatment was for.

"Derek? Blake? Jess?" Juliette's voice interrupted, saving Nick from having to answer. She came down the stairs, her hair once again back up in its bun. Her eyes were still red and puffy but her friends had the decency not to point it out.

"Hey," they all greeted in unison, giving her a hug. Figuring that they wanted some private time with her to express their condolences and see how she's doing, Nick crutched back into the living room, stopping when he noticed that he really didn't have a place to sit.

While the four of them had been talking, Bud had been busy bringing everything in and it now seemed as though an entire Amish community was setting up shop in his living room. Bushels of apples littered the floor along with parcels of quilts and baskets of pies. Jars of homemade marmalade, jams and jellies decorated every empty shelving space he'd once had. And even more baked goods gathered on his couch.

Nick stood there, staring at all of the treats and pondering whether Bud and his friends would be offended if he gave some of this stuff to Derek, Blake, Jessica, Monroe, and Hank since he knew that he and Juliette wouldn't be able to finish all of this by themselves.

"It's too much, isn't it?" Bud's voice spoke from beside him, making Nick pivot a little so that he could face him. "I knew it was too much, but they insisted that it all come to you. I could take some of it back if you don't want it."

"No, it's not that," Nick immediately argued. He looked around the living room once again, the same shock and awe from before Bud had spoken coming into his face. "But, I don't think Juliette and I can eat all this by ourselves." _Especially since she's leaving, _he silently added. Turning to his right, he saw the same thought echoing around in Bud's head as well.

"That's okay, I understand," Bud assured. "Say, why don't give some to your friends over there," he hitched his head in the direction of the now empty foyer, "I mean, I know you may not want to thank them for helping since you probably don't want it to happen at all but, I'm sure they'd appreciate it."

"Bud, you read my mind," Nick said with a half smile.

"And, if you wanted to, you could also give some to your friend. What was his name? Monroe? I mean, I know that he's a Blutbad and everything but I figure he might appreciate some of the breads, cookies and pie. And I even think there's a red patterned quilt in there somewhere, you could give him that as well. If that's not going to be a problem that is, because I know how they get when they see red."

"I'm sure we'll figure it out," Nick assured with a smile. He sighed, really wanting to get off his feet, "Until then. Do you think you could clear the couch and table? I'd kind of like to sit down."

"Of course, yeah, sure, definitely," Bud quickly replied, scurrying around the room to make as much space as he could. "Sorry Nick, I didn't even think of that. I should have thought of that though."

"Bud, it's alright, really," Nick soothed, knowing that the man's concern was probably formed out of a small amount of guilt. He wanted to tell the Beaver that there wasn't a need for him or his friends and family to feel guilty because none of this was their fault, but he didn't want to embarrass the man either.

Wearily Nick crutched over to the now available couch, being careful to navigate around the many gifts and food items, and then sat down onto the cushions. He gave a relieved sigh at being able to get off his feet, but he still felt as though he were on display at the zoo so he opened his eyes, unsurprised to find Bud staring at him worriedly.

Nick wanted so badly to ask if Bud needed anything else, but he didn't want to make the man feel unwelcome. Throughout the case, Bud had been the one to help him out the most. He knew that it was because Bud had asked that the council at the Lodge had allowed him to speak; he knew that it was because of Bud that Arnold had eventually come forward to identify Salvatore as the murder; and he knew that it was because of Bud that his living room now looked like a cover page for Country Living.

The Eisbiber had shown a great amount of bravery the last couple of days and Nick appreciated it. At first he'd thought of the Beaver as an annoyance; a man who was too afraid of Nick to do more than suck up to him. But during this case he saw just how nice a guy and how strong Bud was; it was a pleasant surprise.

"Well, I'm going to head out," Bud announced nervously, pointing towards the closed front door. "Do you need anything before I go? You look like you're in a little bit of pain there; can I get you something for it?"

"No, thanks Bud, I'm good. And thank you for bringing all of this over; it really wasn't necessary."

"We know," Bud replied. "We didn't do it because we thought we had to. Well, maybe a couple people did because, you know, they're scared that you'll cut off their head for opposing you, but most of us did it because we're grateful to you for helping Arnold, and us."

"I was just doing my job, Bud," Nick replied modestly.

"Yes and no. You played your role of the detective well, but you also went above and beyond. Most cops would have sent us out the door with no more than a 'good bye' and maybe a 'watch your back'. Most Grimms would have killed us just because we were involved and then because we didn't act like they'd wanted us to." Nick winced at Bud's matter-of-fact tone, wishing that the Wesen community would learn that _he _wasn't like that. "You, Nick, are a good person. Don't let anyone ever tell you different."

Nick watched as he walked out the door without another word, wondering if Bud knew how lucky he was to never have to say 'good bye' to the one he loved because he had a wife who already knew his secrets.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! Sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter up. RL has knocked me on my a$$ lately and it's been a struggle for me to get back up. :) **

**Hope you like this chapter!**

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**Part V**

The rest of Nick's Saturday passed achingly slow. It seemed that the universe was bound and determined to punish him for something that, for the most part, had been beyond his control. Sometime during the day, he'd managed to put some of that salve that Bud had given him on the cut. It hadn't been easy, but eventually he'd managed to get enough slathered over the deepest portions.

Steadily, Juliette and her friends moved boxes out of the house, going in and out and letting the cool October air in. No one said a word to each other as they went through the motions because no one knew what to say. They settled for giving one another awkward looks and half smiles and left it at that.

The ground turkey in the pan sizzled as it browned; releasing smells of cooking meat and the herbs it was being seared with. Though it often served him well, Juliette was the one that heavily favored the vegetarian food, not Nick. This was his idea of comfort food and it smelled delicious. He finished dicing some red, yellow, and orange peppers and tossed them into the bowl of carrots he'd diced earlier, and then he put the Santouk knife down so he could add it all to the frying pan.

"Mmm, spaghetti," Jessica commented from behind him. "_Please _tell me there's garlic bread too."

"Jeez!" Nick jumped in surprise, damn near burning his hand on one of the burners in the process. Once his balance was regained, his right hand went to his heart, feeling it pound frantically within his chest.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," she said with a smile in her voice. He turned around to look at her, making sure to keep his hands on the countertop to help steady him. Her face went from a smile to a frown of concern as she watched him, 'Should you be cooking?"

"Well, I may not be as good a cook as Juliette, but I think I can manage spaghetti," Nick replied even though he knew that wasn't what she'd meant. He limp-hopped over to put the cutting board and knife into the sink, giving a grimace when he put as much weight as he could tolerate on his injured leg.

"That's not what I was talking about and you know it," she scolded with her thin arms over her chest. "I've been sent down here to make sure you don't burn the place down."

Nick smiled wryly, "She doesn't trust me to cook huh?"

"It's more she doesn't want you to injure yourself further," Jessica corrected absently. "You guys may be breaking up but she still loves you, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Nick managed to get out before his throat closed up on him. He leaned against the counter, watching the water as it ran down the drain, and let a few tears slip down his cheeks before he quickly dried them and limp-hopped back over to the stove. "I love her too."

Jessica stopped him before he reached the stove and gently pushed him into a chair that she'd managed to bring into the kitchen while he wasn't looking. She then went over and began to stir the meat mixture and checked on the water for the pasta.

He'd never admit it, but sitting down and getting off his feet felt good. Nick was never the type to sit around while others worked so, not surprisingly, he'd had trouble being the only one relaxing. So instead, he'd waited until the salve had somewhat numbed the injury to his leg before getting up and beginning to organize the gifts in the living room. It had been harder than hell given that even with the salve, he couldn't tolerate a lot of weight on the leg, but he'd managed nonetheless.

"You don't have to hide the tears, you know," she said as the vegetables and meat sizzled in the pan. Hazel eyes slid to her left to look at him where he sat. "We know this is hurting you just as much as it is her."

At those words the tears started again, though he would have said otherwise if he'd been asked. Nick lowered his head in hopes of hiding the effect her words had had on him. His hand once again went to his heart, this time to soothe the pain that burrowing itself into it.

Two dainty hands landed on his shoulders and gave them a squeeze. One moved from his shoulder to his back, rubbing gentle circles along the way. The motion helped to sooth the ache in his heart, but really, it only made it more bearable. He inhaled, barely recognizing the sound of his own ragged breathing mixed with a small wheeze. This time Jessica wrapped her arms fully around him, engulfing him in as big a hug as she could.

"I am so sorry that you're hurting," she whispered sincerely into his ear. "I know that you've only seen me as Juliette's friend but I'm yours as well. Call me if there's anything that you need."

The moment lasted all of five seconds. Then she was back at the stove, cooking the dinner for him. Nick could only sit and stare down at the floor while he concentrated on regulating his breathing and locking his emotions back into the pine box that's buried deep in his soul.

"So, are they upstairs packing still?" he asked wanting nothing more than to change the subject.

"No, they've moved on to the actual moving out stage," she replied with a small wince in anticipation for how that would sound to him. He raised his eyebrows at her, expressing that they had already been in the moving out stage all day and she smiled, answering, "Big furniture time."

"So you're here more as a diversion than to actually help," he surmised with a humorless grin.

"Sort of," she conceded, "But she did want me to come and make sure you were careful." She poured the meat and sauce together then added it to the pasta.

"Well, I appreciate the babysitting," Nick said as he eased himself out of the chair. He limp-hopped over to where the plates and silverware were kept and grabbed enough for all of them, leaving everyone else's on the counter.

She swiftly grabbed the plate from him and loaded it with spaghetti, taking it to the table when she was finished. "And don't think of trying to come out here without your crutches," she called as she walked away. "I'm pretty sure your doctor wouldn't approve."

"Eh. What he doesn't know can't hurt him," Nick retorted as he grabbed the crutches and made his way into the dining room.

"I would think that by now, you know that statement isn't true," she immediately returned dryly.

Nick, who had just begun to start eating, froze. Her words felt like the hand that drove the dagger into his heart, cruelly twisting until there was a ragged hole in the middle.

"Oh God, Nick I am so sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded," Jessica began apologizing. The horrified look on her face showed just how remorseful she felt, but it didn't help the pain she'd caused. When he remained quiet, she went on, "Juliette didn't tell us what exactly happened, but she did say that you'd told her the secrets you've been keeping, and when you said that, that was just the first thing that had come to my head." She gave another wince as she realized that her apology wasn't working out the way she'd liked. "And you know me, I don't have much of a filter, I say what I think."

Nick could only nod that he'd heard. His throat had closed before she'd even tried to explain and right now it was hard enough to breathe, let alone try to calm her worries. While trying to simply regain control of his emotions, Nick began to start eating again.

Jessica took his silence as anger and simply left without trying to offer another word of apology. He wasn't sure how long she'd been gone when another, more familiar set of footsteps echoed through the house.

"Nick?" Juliette tentatively called. She smiled when she found him in the dining room, still eating. The truth was that he had only taken one bite of the food before he discovered that he didn't really have an appetite. He didn't want her to know that though, so he took another bite just to keep the pretense up. "Hey, are you okay?"

"No," Nick answered honestly, unable to lie to Juliette any more. "No, I'm not."

She walked further into the dining room and sat down in the chair across from him as he spoke, her close presence a cruel tease. "It _is_ a pretty stupid question to ask, isn't it?"

Nick gave a sardonic chuckle, "Yeah, it is."

"I know, I just-"

"-don't know what else to say?" he supplied, knowing exactly how she felt.

"Yeah," she replied quietly, bowing her head to look at her hands. For awhile the only sound in the house was that of a clock ticking away, marking the passing of time with a resounding tick-tock.

Knowing that he'll never be able to finish the food, Nick pushed the plate away and leaned back into the chair to give Juliette his full and undivided attention. It was not hard since she looked beautiful as always, but it also hurt to look at her.

"I, um, just wanted to let you know that we're done for right now," she announced, and Nick wasn't surprised in the least. Given how quickly she'd made her decision, he knew that she wouldn't have room to put all of her stuff so she would end up leaving it here until she found a place of her own. "I've put all the stuff I couldn't take into the guest room, so it should be out of your way. I'll let you know when I can come back for it."

Nick nodded, knowing that he didn't actually need to say anything. He watched as she stood up and walked over to him. Pushing his chair away from the table so that he could stand to give her a hug, Nick unsteadily got to his feet. He leaned against the table since it was on his weak side and enveloped her in as big a hug as he could manage.

They stayed interlocked for a few minutes, each drawing strength and comfort from the other. They knew this would be the last time they could hold one another without any sort of awkwardness involved, so they were taking advantage of the opportunity. Sure, they could talk on the phone but it wouldn't be with the same closeness they'd always had.

"If you need anything, call me," he whispered into her ear. He wanted to say that, though they were breaking up, they would always be friends, but it sounded too corny so he hoped this would suffice. She pulled away and he kissed her forehead.

"The same goes for you, you know," she replied a little teary eyed. "I know we're breaking up but we were friends before we were lovers and I don't want that to go away."

He smiled when she said what he couldn't and pulled her back into a hug. Unprepared for the pull, she stumbled a little, knocking into his leg. It hadn't hurt too badly, but she obviously thought it had because she began to pull away. Not wanting to let you go just yet, he held her firm.

When she pulled away, Nick felt tears being to fall down his cheeks. This was it; she was walking out of his life for good. Sure she'd said that they would remain friends, but he knew that they wouldn't be in touch for a few months just so they could try and move on.

"Be careful," she wished before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"You too," he returned, fighting against saying 'I love you'. She gave him a partial smile before turning on her heel and walking out.

Nick fell into the dining room chair, feeling devastated. It was done. He had finally done what his aunt had told him to do, and it hurt just as much as he knew it would.

* * *

Monroe sat in his house, working on one of his clocks and hoping that the gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach was just last night's dinner coming back to haunt him. He didn't understand why he should feel so anxious. Nick was grown man who could very well take care of himself; hell, he'd proven that by taking out two Reapers! Okay, so he'd been injured in the process, but considering their aim had been to cut off his head, a deep gash in the leg wasn't anything to worry about. Besides, that wasn't the reason Monroe was worried in the first place. No, Monroe was worried about how the Grimm's honest conversation with his girlfriend had gone.

In spite of his better judgment, Monroe had left a note for her to read once they'd finished talking. He'd known they would be up there awhile so he hadn't bothered waiting for her to come down; instead he'd gone to find a spare piece of paper and something to write with. He actually felt a little guilty for leaving the note—some things he said could definitely be taken the wrong way by Nick if he ever found out about it—but he hoped it had helped her even just a little.

The Blutbad was actually confused as to why he'd felt the urge to help Juliette since Nick was his friend. As he put his tools down so that he could get up and move for a bit, he pondered that curious fact. He supposed that the note was more for Nick's benefit than Juliette's. After all, he knew that if she had dragged everything out then decided to end it after all of that, it would destroy Nick, and that was something Monroe didn't want or need. The Grimm was needy enough without having emotional stuff to add to the mix.

When he'd left, he'd done so with the expectation that Nick would be calling him really soon to update him either way. But it had been two days since he'd dropped Nick off at home and he still hadn't heard anything. Monroe knew that could mean that everything was going well with the Grimm, but he had a sinking suspicion that that wasn't the case at all.

A muscle in his calf twitched and Monroe's leg jerked in response, making Nick's keys jingle in his pocket. Glad to have a legitimate excuse for checking on Nick, Monroe finished off the very expensive beer he'd started earlier, and then started gathering his wallet, keys and jacket. He wanted to check on the Grimm that had slowly become one of his best friends, and he couldn't think of a better way to do it than by returning his vehicle to him.

The night was cold, so cold Monroe could see his breath when he exhaled. He shivered a little as a light breeze swept past, causing more fog to appear. Nick's house was full of light; so full, it looked like almost every light in the house was on. If it wasn't for the distinct smell of pain that assaulted his nose, Monroe would have found the sight to be welcoming.

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door, straining his ears to hear what was going on inside the house. When he heard the tell-tale sound of crutches against a hardwood floor, the Blutbad backed up a bit so that it wouldn't look like he was snooping.

"Dude," was all Monroe could think to say when Nick answered the door.

Balancing tiredly on his crutches, the Grimm looked like he'd been run over by a bus, died and then came back to life—minus all the bruises that is. Dark circles marred the detective's bright blue eyes, making him look like he had been in a fight and lost. The eyes themselves were red—almost infected-looking if Monroe hadn't known any better—and bleak. His breathing made Monroe wince and wonder if the Reapers hadn't somehow managed to break one or two of his ribs; it was ragged and harsh with just enough of a hint of wheezing to make Monroe worry that the man was sick.

"Nice to see you too, Monroe," Nick quipped with a ghost of his usual smirk. Monroe couldn't tell if the man was too tired to put enough effort into the smile, or if he just didn't feel like bantering with the Blutbad tonight; either way, it didn't matter. It surprised Monroe to discover that it actually hurt a little for him to see his friend in this condition.

The Grimm stepped aside, moving just enough so that Monroe let himself inside the house. For a minute, the Blutbad just stood in the entry way, relishing in the warmth, though if he weren't mistaken it was only a bit warmer inside than it was outside. Had the man forgotten how to turn on the heat?

"Dude," Monroe said again as he followed his friend to the couch, "are you joining the raccoon brigade tonight or what?"

Nick gave another ghost of a smile at his joking question but he didn't answer. Instead, he slowly made his way into the living room, sitting gingerly down onto the couch once he'd arrived. His head leaned back against the cushion and he released a sigh of God only knows what; it could have been exhaustion, it could have been relief. Hell it could have been pain and Monroe wouldn't have been none the wiser; all his Blutbad nose could smell was pain and it overwhelmed his senses to the point of making him nauseous.

"Seriously, man, are you alright?"

It was a stupid question, Eddie knew; obviously the man wasn't alright, he looked and sounded half dead and could probably do with a good night's sleep or two. In front of him, Nick shifted uncomfortably on the couch, giving a slight shiver as well. It was all he needed to know that the Grimm was sick. He hadn't been able to see it as clearly when Nick had answered the door because the moonlight, while bright, hadn't been bright enough. But in the light of the house, the flush in his cheeks and the slight sheen of sweat was easy to see.

Monroe wished that he didn't already know the reason for his friend's lack of interest in anything, but the painful silence of the house and the lack of warmth told him all he needed to know – Juliette had left.

Nick's hollow laugh echoed through the house and went straight to Monroe's heart. He had never heard the Grimm laugh like that and he didn't like it. It sounded like the man had lost everything; his hope, his geniality, his reason for living, and his light. Eddie didn't doubt that that was the way the man felt right now but he knew that eventually, all that would change. There was no way he was going to tell Nick that though; not only would that be cruel, but it would only serve to anger a man that, while yes on crutches, could still take him in a fight.

Seeing the way Nick handled the two Reapers the other night proved one thing to Edward Monroe: Nick had officially become a Grimm.

The revelation scared him a bit. Knowing that the man that felt comfortable enough to barge into Monroe's house with only a knock ensured that Eddie would do everything he could to stay on the man's good side; because he did _not _want to be on his bad side. He had a feeling that Nick wouldn't kill him, but he couldn't say the same for himself. His Blutbad side had been suppressed for far too long; the minute it got out, blood would be shed and it didn't care whose blood it was.

"No, Monroe, I am not okay," Nick finally answered. His voice was rough and deep with anger but his blue eyes were now sharper than a knife, focusing on Monroe with such precision he could have been mistaken for a Wesen. He rose to his feet in one swift movement, briefly startling the Blutbad with the quickness.

Eddie opened his mouth to say that he probably shouldn't be trying to put weight on his injured leg, but one fierce glare from the blue eyes made of ice stopped him completely. It was clear this explosion was a long time coming, and if Nick wanted to start moving on, it needed to happen.

Nick paced in his living room, the limp on his left side so heavy it looked like he was barely touching the floor with his foot. With every other step, the Grimm put his hand on the wall, using it to support him where is leg failed. The move was so practiced that Monroe wondered how much Nick had actually used his crutches since he'd got them.

"I knew this was going to happen, I knew it and yet I still told her. Why? Well the answer is simple isn't it? I wanted her to marry me, to be my wife; that was all I ever wanted, but does that work out? No, of course not because the universe doesn't seem content in letting me be completely happy, does it?! No, it would rather I be alone so I can do whatever it is the Grimms did. Well if that's what it wants, TOO DAMN BAD BECAUSE I AM NOT DOING IT!"

And with the last explosion Nick grabbed the first thing he could find and threw it across the house. Luckily it was only an apple, but even an apple could be lethal if it's thrown hard enough, and Nick was no wuss. It slammed into a picture of Nick and Juliette, shattering the glass that had covered it.

For a few minutes, Nick remained standing. By now the slow, ragged wheeze of his breath was a rapid pant that sounded painful to Monroe's ears. As though all the fight had gone from his body, Nick collapsed onto the couch, crying so silently that Monroe wouldn't have known if it hadn't been for the tears pouring down the man's flushed face.

"Feel better?" Monroe asked dryly as he made his way over to the coffee table in front of Nick. He didn't know if the man had done any more damage to his leg but Eddie wanted to check on it anyways.

"No," Nick answered in a voice so foreign it could have been anybody speaking.

Monroe nodded, somewhat understanding how Nick felt. After Angelina had left the first time, this was about how Monroe felt. Granted, he was a lot more violent about everything, but he'd done the exact same thing Nick had just done. He'd thrown things and he'd punched so many walls he'd lost count of them. But no matter how many holes he'd made, Eddie had never felt better afterwards, just more pain.

"Well, time to make sure you didn't rip your stitches," Monroe stated out loud so that Nick would know what he planned on doing. When he didn't receive a response, he gently grabbed Nick's leg and lifted it onto the table.

Amazingly, it didn't appear that Nick had opened any of the stitches, but there was swelling that he didn't think should be there. There was also a bit more red around the stitching than he thought was normal so he took a chance and decided to give it a small poke. The affected muscle twitched like it was dancing a jive, causing Nick to tense up and cringe.

"I'm sure you already know this, but you're going to need to go back to the doctor for your leg. It looks like it's infected," Monroe tiredly announced.

"Yeah, I know," Nick replied, grimacing and cringing from what Monroe assumed to be pain. "I'll call them tomorrow."

Eddie chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking on whether or not Nick should go tonight. The man looked truly exhausted, almost like a strong wind would knock him over. And though he knew infections were tricky little things and should be taken care of as soon as possible, the Blutbad also knew that he had something back at his house that would help. The problem was that he didn't trust Nick to take care of himself or recognize when something was wrong. Clearly, he hadn't cared that he'd gotten sick practically overnight so why would he do something if he got worse?

Resigning himself to a long night on Nick's couch, Monroe gave in, "Fine but you aren't sleeping on the couch. You need a real night's sleep in a bed."

Nick didn't argue. In fact, he didn't even look like he'd heard. He just kept staring down at his still-raised leg, looking at it as though it might have the answers to the universe.

On one hand, Monroe supposed that it was the reason the Grimm was in this position in the first place; but on the other, he also knew that this needed to happen months ago. Though Monroe was loathed to agree with Nick's aunt on anything, he knew that she was right. Nick should have broken up with Juliette shortly after finding out about his heritage. Trying to walk in between two worlds never worked out well for anyone; Monroe would know, he tried it when he'd first become a Wiederblutbad. Needless to say, it didn't end well for Monroe.

"Come on, man, I don't have all the time in the world," Monroe urged when Nick didn't make a move.

"Who died and made you my mother?" Nick groused grumpily. Never the less, he slowly grabbed the crutches he'd abandoned earlier and began to hoist himself off the couch. He swayed a little once he got upright and Monroe put his hand on the Grimm's shoulder to steady him.

"Whoa, you okay?" he asked, concerned by Nick's pallor.

Nick offered a mocking smile, "Peachy."

"Okay, smart ass, let's go," Monroe returned. He resisted the urge to smack the Grimm upside the head, choosing instead to step out of the way and wait for the man to begin the slow journey upstairs.

"Again, when did you become my mother?" Nick grumbled, stumbling along towards the stairs. He faltered for a second, making Monroe roll his eyes in exasperation.

"Oh for the love of Mike," Monroe cursed before he swiftly scooped Nick into his arms and began carrying up to the bedroom.

It was a testament to how sick Nick truly was that he didn't really complain about the free ride. Bleary, fevered eyes looked up at Monroe and a cheeky grin spread on his face.

"You know, this is the second time in three days that you've carried me to my bedroom," Nick pointed out. "Monroe, do you like me?"

"Shut up," Monroe answered, snorting his displeasure at the idea of the two of them romantically involved. "You are _way _too high maintenance for me, man. Trust me."

"Am not," the Grimm replied, offended by the insinuation.

"Dude, out of all the responses out there, you go with 'am not'? What are you, twelve?"

Monroe shifted the weight in his arms, uncomfortable with the amount of heat he felt radiating off his burden. He didn't actually care about the response; he just wanted to keep the man awake so that he could stuff acetaminophen down his throat before he crashed. While Nick was sleeping, he would go and grab the ointment for the infection.

Turning to his left he walked into Nick's bedroom and placed him down on the bed.

"You're twelve," Nick returned, rather childishly. He moaned as he shifted in the bed, snuggling into the covers and pillows like the child he'd just been acting like.

"Nice comeback," Monroe answered. After going into the bathroom and grabbing the medicine and a glass of water, he returned to the bedroom and handed both to Nick. The man looked up at him like he'd just been handed poison.

"Take it," Monroe instructed when it appeared that Nick wasn't planning on it. He waited with his arms over his chest, watching as the Grimm slowly downed the two pills and the entire glass of water. "Good. Now, you stay there like a good little Grimm while I go and get something to help fight the infection."

When he didn't get anything more than a mumble, Monroe turned around and left. Nick would be fine while he was gone but he still didn't want to take too long in grabbing what he needed. He was gone and back within twenty minutes, thankful that they lived relatively close to one another; it helped that it was past eleven o'clock at night and there wasn't any traffic.

He returned to find Nick in the exact same position he'd been left in—fast asleep and sprawled out on the bed. Taking the opportunity while he had it, Monroe carefully took the compression bandage and gauze off Nick's leg and began applying the ointment he'd retrieved. He made quick work of the doctoring and was out of Nick's room before the Grimm had even moved.

By the time he settled down on the couch, it was almost one. He'd tried going to bed earlier but his mind wouldn't let him until he'd forced some more water down Nick's throat. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, silently praying his dead ancestors weren't planning revenge on him when he died.

If someone had told him when he was younger that he would be sitting on a Grimm's couch, taking care of said Grimm while he was sick, Monroe would have laughed in the person's face, then probably ripped their throat out.

Life certainly does work in mysterious ways, doesn't it?

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry it took me so long to get this to you all. I promise I really am working on the next couple of chapters but it appears that my muse has run a way. If anyone finds it, please let me know and send her back to me. :) **

* * *

**Part VI**

When Nick next woke, it was to the sun barely streaming through the windows of his bedroom and the smell of homemade bread wafting through the house. His brain was still too fuzzy from the fever to even wonder _why _there was the smell of fresh bread, so Nick merely turned over so that he lay on his back.

_Ow, _his body groused when he moved. His muscles felt heavy and weak, even the slightest movement felt taxing. Behind his eyes throbbed a headache so fierce it made his vision blurry, making Nick to squint to see the random shapes and cracks in the ceiling. The wound on his leg pulsed in time with his heartbeat, sending jagged shards of pain throughout the limb.

It took a good ten minutes for him to recall the past three days, and by the time he had, the sun had fully set. Wait a minute, why had the sun set? He had to go to work! Hang on, why didn't his alarm go off?

"Oh good, you're awake," Monroe greeted far too cheerily for Nick's pounding head. Vaguely, Nick recognized something in the Blutbad's hands but the fever he still had was making it too hard for him to think properly.

Nick winced at the sound of his friend's voice, sluggishly bringing a hand to his head in hopes of clamping down on the throbbing temples. Heat poured off him in waves; he could feel them crash into Monroe as they`` spread outward. And still it didn't do anything to help cool him down. His eyes burned, almost painfully so, so he closed them, wanting to cool them down with what little liquid he had left in them.

"Still feeling like crap huh?" Monroe surmised, though he didn't sound any less happy than when he came in. His footsteps shuffled from the bedroom door to Nick's side of the bed, stopping to place what sounded like a tray onto one of the bare dresser tops. The sound echoed through the bedroom, taunting Nick with its emptiness.

_Ha, ha, Juliette left and now you're all alone, _it teased and tormented as it pounded viciously through his head.

A cool hand placed itself on his forehead and Nick found himself leaning into the touch.

"Still hot, I see," Monroe commented dryly. The cold hand left, along with Monroe's footsteps, and went into the bathroom where Nick heard the sink's faucet turn on.

Time was obviously not Nick's best friend right now; he thought Monroe had been in the bathroom for hours and if he'd been asked, he would have said that, in the time Monroe had spent screwing around, his fever had begun to sear the skin on his bones.

The cold came back, but this time in the form of a washcloth. Icy water dripped down the sides of his head, disappearing into his hairline as it evaporated. More water splattered onto his face and chest as Monroe splashed it onto his skin.

Nick was torn between cringing away from the cold and whimpering in delight. At first the water was uncomfortable, but after a millisecond it became pleasant. More water splashed onto his skin and this time Nick did whimper.

"Don't be such a baby," Monroe groused, and Nick could imagine an over exaggerated eye roll playing into the mix as well.

"Monroe," Rosalee's voice snapped, surprising Nick's subconscious mind.

"What? It's not that cold."

"It probably is to him. His fever is still high enough that the most tepid water would be freezing." She paused for a moment then said, "Now help me prop him up so we can get some fluids into him."

The time it took Monroe to get him settled upright wasn't that long, Nick knew that, but it was long enough for the Grimm to recognize one thing: it hurt. God, he hated being sick! Injuries he could handle, but sickness sucked.

Another washcloth was placed on his head, replacing the now warm one. This time the water that splattered onto his skin was followed by yet another cool washcloth; this one was wetter than the one on his forehead. Water dripped off it, soaking into the light tee shirt he wore as it traveled down his chest.

Oh yeah, that definitely felt good.

Both washcloths were removed from his face and Nick found himself missing the cold. He opened his eyes slowly, not sure if he actually wanted to know what he would see or not. The first thing he saw was the royal blue of a washcloth closing the distance between it and his forehead but the next thing he saw was Rosalee's warm smile.

"Hey," she greeted in a gentle voice. She dragged another wet washcloth down the side of his face and chest.

"That feels good," Nick responded. His subconscious mind berated him for saying that of all things when he should be asking _when _she got there, not to mention _why _she was there.

She chuckled deep in her throat, "I'll bet it does. Your fever was almost one-hundred and six before Monroe called me." She threw a look over Nick's body where he assumed Monroe stood. "The wound on your leg was badly infected by the time I got here. But between some ointment Monroe's grandmother made and some herbs from the shop, you're finally on the mend."

"Mm," Nick acknowledged, though he'd meant to say more.

Of their own accord, Nick's eyes closed but it wasn't long before Rosalee's voice was urging him to open them back up. "Nick, I know you're tired, but I need you to open your eyes again. We need to get some sustenance in you before you can go back to sleep."

"Mph," Nick objected, weakly trying to turn his head away from the spoon that was being shoved into his face.

"Hey, don't look at me for help," Monroe said when Nick apparently turned his direction. "I'm with her."

"And in more ways than one," Nick responded before he could think about it. He winced when he realized how the comment had sounded and the throbbing in his head intensified. "Ugh," he groaned, putting a hand on his head, "Sorry. I didn't mean that the way it came out."

"It's fine," Rosalee assured, shoving a spoonful of homemade chicken noodle soup into his mouth while she had the chance of it being open.

Nick grimaced at the heat. Normally cold soup didn't appeal to the Grimm but when he was as hot as he felt, it always sounded glorious. He opened his mouth to say something about the temperature, but soon found it full of more soup.

"Kay, you ready for some Tylenol?" Rosalee asked. The clinking of a bowl and spoon being set down soon followed her question, followed by the rattle of a pill bottle.

Nick winced as the sounds resounded through his head but he didn't answer; he figured it was a rhetorical question anyways.

"Now, we'll let you get some rest," Rosalee promised after she'd given Nick the medicine.

"What about the herbs?" Nick mumbled, vaguely remembering something about them from earlier.

"They were in the soup," Rosalee answered, gathering things so she and Monroe could leave.

Unaware of what he was doing, Nick smacked his lips together as he tried to taste the soup again. "Is that what made it taste so good?"

"No, that would be the taste of homecooking," Monroe answered. "Remember what that tastes like?"

"What 'r you talkin' about? I had homecooking a lot when I was with Juliette," Nick sleepily argued.

"Okay, as much as I'd love to listen to you two banter, we really need to let him sleep," Rosalee interjected before things could really get going; which was good given Nick couldn't really think much beyond his argument.

"Excuses, excuses," Monroe joked, but Nick could hear his footsteps retreating nonetheless.

"Get some rest, Nick; we'll check in on you in a couple of hours."

And with that, Nick was left alone. It didn't take long for the darkness in his room to lull him into a deep sleep and soon, Nick was aware of nothing more—not even the figure outside his window, keeping watch.

* * *

Sean sat in the tree outside Nick's bedroom, keeping a close eye on the man whom he was destined to be mated to. Regnants don't fall in love lightly, or at all really, so when one falls for a being, it generally means that that being is who they are meant to be with for the rest of the Regnant's life. Unfortunately, a Regnant's life span was longer than that of a human. It often meant that the Regnant was left, at one point in time or another, alone for a portion of its adulthood.

If he'd been asked, Sean wouldn't be able to say why he was sitting outside the Grimm's bedroom, stalking the man, as it were. Okay, so he _could _say, but he would rather not. The truth of the matter was Sean was worried about Nick.

When he'd — discreetly — stopped by Saturday night to check on Nick, he'd noticed that the house was Juliette-less and that Nick wasn't taking it so well. Every instinct in his body had screamed at him to knock on the front door and ask if Nick was okay or if he needed anything, but he knew he couldn't; he'd made an agreement with the Grimm that he would wait for him to be ready and Sean was going to stick to it. He'd kept an eye on Nick, though. Watching all throughout Sunday in growing worry until the Blutbad had shown up. Knowing that he could be smelled, Sean chose then to vacate. He didn't want his presence known, especially since the Blutbad would probably tell Nick that he was around.

He'd waited impatiently for the cover of dusk before he ventured another watch. And now, here he sat on a hefty tree limb, barely shivering in the cold that had descended upon Portland. He was glad to see that Nick was getting better. His only regret was that it couldn't have been him sitting by the Grimm's bedside instead of the Blutbad and the Fuchsbau..

Patiently, he watched as Nick fell back asleep. Then, as silently as he'd arrived, Sean took flight into the clear night sky. He had some energy to burn and he knew just how to do it.

* * *

It was dawn on Wednesday morning before Nick was coherent enough to remember what had transpired over the past week, and then he'd wished that he hadn't. Juliette's departure still stung as acutely as it had the day it happened and Nick's mood wasn't bound to improve anytime soon because of it. Without moving, he could tell that the scratch on his leg felt better, but it was buried beneath a bone-deep ache that was expected when one had been sick.

For a moment he thought about going back to sleep, but then his phone rang. He didn't know if phones could sound insistent or not, but his currently did, leaving him no doubt about who was calling him.

He groaned as he reached out and grabbed it, letting it seep into his tone when he said, "Hello."

"Nick? Man, you okay?" Hank's worried voice greeted him.

"Uh, I think so?"

"What do you mean, you think so? You aren't sure?" If Nick hadn't been feeling crappy still, he would have laughed at the annoyed note in his partner and friend's voice. He understood it; if the situations had been reversed, he would have been acting the same way and he knew it.

"Well, I've been sick, but I'm alive," he answered, hoping that it would placate the annoyed man.

"At this point, that's debatable. Do you even know what day it is?"

Try as he might, Nick couldn't recall what day it was. So he guessed. "Uh… Monday?"

"Try Wednesday." Hank's tone had calmed some. Instead of the near panicked tone when he'd first answered, it was now more of a teasing annoyance. Nick could hear the smirk as he'd announced the day, but he could also hear the slight bit of worry as well.

"Oh." Nick knew it wasn't enough of a reply, but it was all he had to give. With his brain still fuzzy from being sick, he honestly couldn't think of anything else. To say that it was annoying would be an understatement, but it was all Nick could think of to describe how he felt. Okay, so 'annoying' didn't really cover it since he also felt sore and tired as well, but it worked.

"Oh?"

"Well, you kinda woke me up, Hank. It's barely seven."

"Yeah, and usually you would be up by now," Hank argued, not bothered that he woke up a sick person.

"Yeah, the keyword there being 'usually'. Since I'm sick, I'm not." Nick groaned as a throbbing in his head began to make itself known via an especially painful burst.

"And how was I to know that you were sick, huh?" Hank returned, apparently ignoring Nick's sound of pain. "For all I knew, you were dead."

"Yeah, well, I'm not. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Hank scoffed at the question, letting the noise speak for itself. "And I suppose you want me to tell the Captain that you won't be in?"

"Don't you always?" Nick almost mentioned that the Captain already knew that he wouldn't be in, almost. He thankfully had enough presence of mind to remember that in doing so, he'd have to divulge all the secrets he'd been keeping from his partner, and reveal a new one he'd just learned all in one blow. Since he figured he'd done enough damage for one year, he didn't see the point in doing it again.

"Man, you're just lucky I like you," Hank replied. He hung up without waiting for anymore instructions— a fact for which Nick was grateful.

He debated putting the phone back on the table, but his arm felt too heavy for him to bother with it so he left it on the bed by his leg, figuring he'd put it back later. He was just about asleep when there was a gentle knock on his door.

"Nick?" Rosalee called through the wood, quiet in case he was still asleep. Carefully she opened the door and slipped inside, startling when she noticed that he was awake. "Sorry, I didn't know if you were up or not," she breathily apologized as she waited for her heart rate to slow down. In case he was apparently blind, she flashed the tray she'd been holding in front of her. "I brought you some breakfast. It's not much since your stomach's not ready for much solid food. But I think it's time we got your strength back up, don't you?"

Nick's first thought was no, it wasn't time to get up and get back to his life yet because Juliette was no longer in it. But even sick, he realized how ridiculous that sounded, so he took a moment to come up with something better.

"Sounds good," was all he could think to answer, his mind once again going blank when he needed it to cooperate. Stiffly, he raised himself so that he was sitting up, leaning annoyingly heavily on the headboard behind him. He was pleasantly surprised when his calf didn't grumble about being moved; apparently that salve that Bud had given him had worked, who knew?

"Good," Rosalee answered cheerily. Despite the lameness of his answer, she seemed pleased with it anyways. Her smile wasn't exactly bright, but it was as bright as Nick had ever seen since she'd arrived. He was glad that she and Monroe worked so well together; Monroe needed somebody that could get him out of the house willingly – other than Nick that is – as well as help him keep the inner wolf tamed. Of course, Nick was sure that Monroe was good for Rosalee too, he just didn't know the young woman well enough to know how.

She placed the tray down over his lap, the dishes clinking all the while as she asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Uh, better, I think. Things are a bit fuzzy still, but I definitely feel better than I did the last time I woke."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. Not that I mind helping you out, but I would like to get back to the spice shop soon." She gave him a small wink to let him know that she was only partially kidding, thus preventing him from apologizing for something that hadn't been his fault in the first place. She sat down in the chair next to the bed and then added, "Not that Monroe has exactly been the most patient of people either. I had to kick him out last night because he was getting on my nerves with all his pent up energy."

"Haha, that sounds like Monroe," Nick agreed with a breathy smile. When he actually focused on the food on the tray, his brows furrowed. "Uh, Rosalee, why am I eating soup at," he looked over at the clock to confirm the time, "seven-thirty in the morning?"

"Because, Monroe has eaten the rest of the food that was in the house, what little there was of it, and there are some herbs in the soup that will help keep the fever down and boost your immune system. The infection seems to be gone, but you're still a little sick so I want to keep ahead on that and not let it get worse."

She leveled her gaze at his as she finished speaking. It seemed as though she were trying to convey a message within her words which were meant specifically for him, but his mind was too groggy to decipher it so he simply offered an abashed smile and began to eat his soup.

The broth tasted like a medium rare prime rib in his mouth. The mixtures of beef, garlic, pepper, oregano, and basil were glorious and he savored every taste. Nick hadn't realized how hungry he'd been until his stomach rolled in both unease and starvation as the liquid settled in it. Knowing that it wouldn't do him any good to overload his stomach with too much food at once, Nick took his painfully sweet time to eat some more. He made sure he paused in between bites, long enough that he felt the rumbling settle but short enough so that he didn't simply inhale the next sip.

"Isn't soup supposed to have chicken and vegetables?" he asked when he noticed that there was nothing but broth in the bowl.

"If this were chicken broth, then yes, there would be chicken and vegetables in it," was her vague reply. The way she was half smiling at him told him not to ask his next question, but part of the reason why Nick had become a detective was because he was curious and so he couldn't heed her silent warning.

"Then what kind of broth is this?"

At this, she smiled and leaned forward so that her elbows rested on her knees. "Believe me, you don't wanna know," she answered, giving another wink.

"Okay," Nick replied, putting another spoonful of the broth in his mouth. "I guess I'll just eat in ignorance and enjoy it."

"That would be a wise move," she assured, leaning back again. "Now, what do you say to getting up and taking a shower?"

"I say, that sounds good." Honestly Nick's first thought was 'Monroe might get jealous', but he wasn't sure of Rosalee's type of humor. Sometimes she laughed at Monroe's jokes and sometimes she didn't. Nick never understood what the difference between them was, so he couldn't figure out why she only laughed part of the time. And since she was currently his babysitter for the day, he thought it better to stay on her good side, so he went with the safer reply.

"Good, well, I'm gonna go downstairs and stop Monroe from blowing up my phone with texts while you eat. Call me when you're ready to get moving; you're still a little weak so you might need some help."

"Sounds good," Nick replied, watching as she got up and walked over to the door. "And Rosalee?"

"Yeah?" she turned around and smiled at him. He could tell she was eager to get back downstairs so he made what he had to say quick, not wanting to keep her from getting some alone time.

"Thank you, you know, for all you've done for me. I really appreciate it."

"No problem." She smiled then started to leave again, hesitating only slightly before walking out the odor and downstairs.

Although he couldn't read minds, Nick was pretty sure that she'd been debating talking to him about Juliette. He was thankful that she hadn't tried because he just wasn't ready for that conversation yet, even if she was the only woman friend he had.

Once he heard Rosalee get on the phone to Monroe, Nick felt himself relax and the faux smile on his face fade. He hated the feeling of dishonesty whenever a smile came onto his face, but somehow he felt he owed his friends to put it there. It wasn't that he didn't trust them enough to show how he truly felt – God knows he did that with Monroe before this whole getting-sick-mess began – he just wasn't altogether sure exactly _how _he felt about the whole situation yet.

On one hand, he felt the pain he felt at Juliette's leaving warranted; it was his punishment for not listening to wise advice when he'd received it, and not just from Aunt Marie, but from Monroe as well.

However, he also felt betrayed and hurt by Juliette's lack of willingness to believe him; she'd even gone so far as to accuse him of making the whole thing up and that had hurt the most. He wasn't sure he'd ever forgive her for that, though he would certainly try. After all, it wasn't entirely her fault; she'd just been trying to make sense of something that was unreasonable and would be considered fiction in any other universe.

Most of all, he felt stuck, like his feet were trapped in a pit of molasses that had gone thick in cooler temperature. He knew he should move on, but he couldn't figure out how. Hell, a part of him didn't want to move on because he hoped that she would eventually come to her senses and come back. He hated that hopeful side; he wanted to murder it because he knew it would hold him back, possibly for the rest of his life.

But being hopeful was just how Nick was; even after his parents had died. Sure, he'd been devastated that they were gone, but somewhere deep inside there was a nagging little voice that told him he would be alright and that he would get past this. For the most part, that voice had been right; he'd been able to mostly put the death of his parents behind him—the fact that it had appeared to be an accident had helped.

This time there was no inner voice encouraging him to let go, that things would be okay. This time all that voice was doing was screaming at Juliette to come back and believe because it needed her to, and that was the most discouraging thing of all. The idea that he felt like he couldn't live without Juliette by his side or in his life was the nail in the coffin for him; it was the driving force behind his desperate need to get back to who he truly was and what his life was now like—being a Grimm and defending, guarding and protecting the weaker Wesen of Portland.

Nick took a shuddering breath, feeling as though he hadn't breathed for five minutes. Tears now dripped silently down his cheeks, falling into a puddle in the mystery broth in the bowl in his lap. His chest hurt; it felt like there was an iron hand around his lungs, preventing them from expanding and the pain that pulsed through his sternum struck like a targeted arrow in his heart.

God, how he hated this! He wanted to throw the tray, bowl, utensils and all across the room and watch satisfactorily as everything dented the wall and the bowl broke into small, fragmented pieces because that's exactly what he felt like was happening to his heart and he knew he was powerless to stop it.

But he wouldn't, he couldn't. For one, Rosalee was still downstairs and not only would she hear the commotion, but she would probably also feel like she had to clean it up then scold him for making the mess in the first place. And for another, the reaction seemed like too much drama. In general, Nick tried to stay away from dram—either causing it or getting in the middle of it. It wasn't something his life needed and it definitely wasn't something he wanted; no man does. So, instead he settled for moving the tray off his lap and onto the empty part of the bed to his right, clearing his throat in an effort to dry his tears all the while.

Screw what Rosalee said or instructed—he was going to get out of this bed and _try _to get back to life. Granted he was sick right now, but he hoped to be feeling better to go into work within the next day or so, so he didn't let that stop him.

Throwing the blankets to the side—because somehow he'd been tucked in while he'd been out with the fever—Nick cautiously swung his legs over the side of his bed, letting his feet touch the cold floor for the first time in days. When he thought he was ready, he slowly began to stand.

His legs were shaky at best, but they held him so he considered a win for him. However standing in one spot while partially leaning against the bedside table was one thing, walking turned out to be another. His body was weak enough that his limbs shook with the effort of holding him upright and the energy it required just to remain standing was enough to deplete what little he had gained while he'd been eating. The pain from the wound on his calf was minimal; the stretching of the muscle caused the most discomfort. But it soon became obvious that he wasn't going to be walking on his own during this attempt so he sat back down with a heavy thud.

_Well, that was disappointing, _he chided himself as he waited for the minute shaking to stop and some energy to return. _Let's try that again. _

This time, the attempt was partially successful. He managed to make it to the armchair in the corner of the room, directly across from his bed, before he felt like he had to collapse.

With another puffing breath, Nick lifted his weak and tired body off the chair and slowly and unsteadily began making his way to the bathroom. His hand had just begun to cling to the dresser against the wall that divided the bathroom from the bedroom when Monroe's voice startled him, "Shouldn't you be waiting for help before you do that?"

Since he didn't have very much energy to begin with, Nick didn't jump at the sound of his friend's voice, but he felt his heart give a stutter of surprise. "Geez, Monroe! You know, it's customary to let someone know when you're standing there."

"I just did," the Blutbad answered unapologetically. "Besides, I would have thought you would have heard the front door seeing as how I knocked on it and everything."

"Yeah, well, I didn't."

"Yeah, I know that now. Geez, what's got your panties in a bunch?"

Nick let out a hollow laugh at his friend's question. After noticing that his entire body was beginning to shake like a dead leaf in an autumn wind, he slowly started walking into the bathroom, answering, "Really?" before he closed the door behind him.

"Okay, I know, stupid question, but come on man, I'm tryin' here," Monroe's voice called through the door. Since Nick found it weird to be talking while he was in there, he didn't answer, which left the Blutbad free to chatter on his own. "I know that Juliette leaving was a blow, but you can't be Mr. Volatile forever. You gotta move on. I'm sure she's moving on as well. Okay, that didn't come out right, but you know what I mean, right? You can't just sit around and let life pass you by; you gotta, take it by the throat-"

"-And strangle it?" Nick added, opening the door and re-entering the bedroom. The half-smile on his face had nothing to do with humor; he truly wished he could take fate by the throat and squeeze until she died.

Monroe, however, didn't think the comment was funny. He glared at Nick, obviously perturbed because his attempt at man-to-man-emotional talk wasn't going so well. "No. Well, my Nana used to say 'rip its throat out', but that never made sense to me. No, I was gonna say, you just gotta take life by the throat and run with it, but I guess that doesn't really make sense either, huh?"

"Nope!" Nick replied, collapsing once again into the armchair, too tired to make it to the bed. The mere fact that he'd been able to make it from the bathroom to the armchair without having to pause was a miracle in and of itself, he thought, and he was proud that he'd made it. However, he wasn't going to test his luck and attempt to make it to the bed, even if all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Yeah, well, give me a break, I'm trying."

Nick chuckled, light and gentle. "I know you are, and I appreciate it, but it's not necessary, really. I'll be fine."

Monroe watched him with skeptical eyes then he huffed out a scoff. "Yeah, okay."

"What, you don't think I will be?" Nick challenged, his eyebrows raising in disbelief.

"No, because you won't be unless you talk about this with your friends; a.k.a. me." When Nick made a face, he continued, "Believe me man, I know, I've been there. Remember, Angelina?"

"Oh, you mean the female Blutbad who didn't care who it was that she killed as long as she got to spill blood? No, I don't remember her at all."

"Okay, one – sarcasm does _not _become you; and two – she cared about whom she killed, just not what she killed."

"Oh, so Bauershwein aren't people?"

"Honestly? To most Blutbad – no. Most of us just see them as another potential meal, and more than likely a fat one at that. But that's beside the point. My point is, I was so in love with her that I allowed one of my best friends to be killed and the reason I was still in love with her was because I didn't try to move on; I didn't talk to my friends like I'd needed to."

"Hap's death wasn't your fault," Nick reminded, fully believing it. "If you'd been there, he probably would have just killed you too."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I kinda do. Orson was out for revenge; if you had gotten in the way of him getting that, he would have pulled the trigger without blinking an eye."

"But still, you're missing the point," Monroe insisted in obvious hopes to chase away the shadows of guilt from his eyes.

"No, Monroe, I got the point, I'm just," Nick sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to calm the headache that had slowly gotten more impressive with this conversation. "I'm just, not ready to talk about this yet, okay? I'm sick, and I'm tired, and, right now, I just want to go to sleep."

"Okay, sure, but don't think you're getting out of it that easily. Got it?"

"What are you, my mother now?"

"Well someone has to be since you obviously aren't too keen on taking care of yourself," Monroe retorted, moving off the bed and waiting for Nick to climb back in.

"I can take care of myself just fine, thank you," Nick groused, gratefully setting his head back onto the pillow.

"Yeah, that's been proven obvious by your three-day fever that has left you incoherent at best." As though acting like the mother he claimed to be pretending to be, Monroe swiftly tucked the blankets back around Nick. "Now, get some rest. I'll wake you up for some lunch in a couple of hours then while you get clean, I'll change the sheets; because you and they both smell and could use the cleaning."

"That's really not necessary," Nick drowsily argued.

"Yeah, you don't smell you like I do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Monroe rolled his eyes as he headed for the door. "Nothing, just go to sleep." He closed the door behind him without another word.

Nick's eyes were closed before Monroe had even finished speaking, and it didn't take long for the rest of him to shut down so he could get the rest his body needed. He hoped he felt better when he woke up because this whole being-a-sick-invalid thing was getting annoying.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **I am SO SO SO SO SO SO sorry for not updating earlier! A round of sickness struck my family and then my laptop died leaving me without access to the fic. I've only recently gotten it uploaded to my only working computer which is why I'm now posting it. I'm currently in the process of writing chapter 8 and outlining the rest of the fic so that I can simply sit and write so hopefully I won't ever make you all wait this long again.

Beta'd by me; if you'd like to be my Grimm beta, let me know :D

* * *

**Part VII**

The landscape rolled by with increasing speed as he flew. Even with that knowledge, however, he still peered down, trying to locate where he was by simple markers. As expected, it didn't work so he gave up and enjoyed the flight. The plane wasn't crowded like it sometimes could be - a fact for which he was thankful. Pierre despised overpopulated areas, planes and cities included; it was why he normally chose to take midnight flights and live in small towns. However, as of late, his ambitions had begun to grow, and he'd found just the person to help further them. Now all he had to do was remove the man who stood in his way.

He pulled a picture of an old newspaper clipping out of his briefcase, sneering at the black and white ink. Removing him shouldn't be too hard; Pierre already knew how he would do that. It was subduing those that were loyal to him that would be the hard part. Thankfully, the person who backed Pierre had already thought of that and was making arrangements before he'd even left.

_Be careful Captain Renard, _he thought as he stared at the man's face from when he was at a press conference. _You may have won the last time we met, but things have changed and this time, I have a few tricks up my sleeve that you won't see coming. _

**oOo**

Sean landed in the forest, silent as a wraith. He put his nose into the air, sniffing it for sign of his prey while remaining as still as the trees. His eyes glowed bright orange when he caught the scent. Perfect. It was a single Lowen; unusual to be sure, but not unheard of. It appeared the lion was camping out in the woods, either hiding from someone or waiting for someone, Sean couldn't tell. Sean noted that it wasn't very bright when he pin-pointed the scent to be coming from an open plain within the woods rather than the caves which were far better at hiding someone.

With a rumble that was pure exhilaration, Sean took off towards the scent, quietly moving through the forest, unnoticed. Normally he wasn't this animalistic in nature; Sean preferred to keep his more feral side hidden. But with the tension between Nick and himself, his inability to check on the man without appearing like a stalker, and the realization that Nick was to be his future mate, Sean needed a release and this was it.

He pounced before the Lowen even knew he was there, using his ability to blend into the scenery to keep his presence hidden from its excellent eyesight. Sean actually felt a little low, attacking without giving the prey a chance to fight back, but his worries were quickly cast aside as the Regnant sunk its teeth into the Lowen's neck.

For a moment, he imagined it was Nick he was biting, but then the scent of the Lowen overwhelmed his senses and the dream was gone. The Regnant took out its frustrations on the dead Lowen, tearing it apart so that it couldn't be identified by anyone that had known it.

He let out a roar that was loud enough to echo through the far reaches of Portland, hoping that Nick could hear it because, after all, it was meant for him. He then repeated it a couple more times before desisting. Once he was finished, he began to dispose of the body so that it would never be found. He thought it was rather convenient that the Lowen had left the fire burning for him so he could use it to devour the lion's remains. Only once the smoke was a mile high and the air was thick with the stench of burning flesh did he leave the scene, the Regnant within rumbling happily as it went back into its cage.

**oOo**

Nick snapped awake, feeling as though his soul had been dragged out of a pool of sleep by an unwanted savior. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming about, but he had the feeling it had been real.

A roar, like that of a giant lion, rumbled through the air outside his window, catching his attention and bring him to his feet and then the window faster than he had thought possible. He opened the window, letting the chilly October air rush passed him as though the breeze itself simply wanted to get warm. When the roar came a third time, because he knew that was had woken him up in the first place, he stuck his head out the window and listened to it.

Beneath the ferocious gurgle, he heard things that he wondered if anyone else could hear. Given that was how his life seemed to work, he guessed they couldn't; that somehow the message within it was meant solely for him and therefore no other could decipher it. The sound felt possessive to Nick, almost like an animalistic claim that had been laid. But he also heard loneliness, desire, and love. The loneliness connected with him on a level he hadn't expected; then the love enveloped him, warming him and acting as an adhesive to hold his heart together.

Another breeze swept past, this time chilling him to the bone. Nick shivered, the act reminding him that he shouldn't be sticking his head out the window. And just like that, the roaring stopped and he felt just as cold, alone, and sick as he had before it had started.

"I'm assuming you heard that," Monroe's voice said from the doorway behind him.

"Couldn't everybody," Nick answered, doing his best to hide the fact that Monroe had surprised him. Slowly, he turned around, feeling every joint and every muscle as he moved.

_Okay, that needs to stop, _he silently grumbled. _The whole, being-sick-and-feeling-like-it thing is just annoying now. _

"Some more than most," Monroe said, the double meaning in his words clear. The problem was that Nick couldn't tell if he was referring to the fact that he could hear it better than most people because of his Blutbad heritage or if Nick heard it best because it was seemingly meant for him. Give the look Monroe was giving him, Nick would guess that it was both.

"Do you know what it was that made it?" Nick ventured curiously.

"Do I look like I know every wesen in Portland?"

Nick raised his eyebrows in an 'are you kidding' kind of expression and smiled. He thought about sitting down so that he didn't wear himself out, but he quickly wiped the idea away; he'd been off his feet for days, it was time to be standing and moving around.

"Alright, fine, yes, I know who it was, but if you don't know, I'm not gonna be the one to tell you because he would kill me. Okay, not literally, well, maybe literally, I don't know; either way, I'm not going to cross him."

"Let me guess, Captain Renard," Nick dryly suggested, recognizing Monroe's awe and desire to stay out of everything.

"Hey, I'm not saying a word," Monroe reminded him, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Anyways, how are you feeling?"

"Better," Nick answered, nodding his head to support his statement as he started to walk away from the window where'd he been standing since Monroe had walked in. Now it was Monroe's turn to give him the 'are you kidding' expression, making Nick stop. "What, don't I look it?"

"No. You look like death barely heated up."

"Well, thanks, I feel so flattered."

"Yeah, well, whatever. Rosalee wants to know if you want to come down for dinner."

"Dinner? What happened to lunch, I thought you were going to wake me up around noon?"

"Hey, I tried," Monroe defended, once again holding up his hands in a peace gesture, "you threatened to shoot me."

"I did not," Nick scoffed, waving away the accusation with the effort of swatting a fly. He paused for a moment, considering his mood as of late and decided to change his statement, "At least, I don't remember doing that."

"That's what I figured," Monroe said, brushing off the whole thing with a shrug. "Anyways, do you want to come down or not?"

"Yeah," Nick replied a bit more enthusiastically than he meant. He sighed, letting the breath calm him down. "Let me take a shower and then, I'll be down."

Monroe didn't reply. Instead he turned around and walked out, leaving Nick to take his shower in peace.

**oOo**

The hot water felt glorious as it splashed, splattered, and sprayed against Nick's skin. He stood with his back to the spray as he began pouring shampoo into the palm of his hand. The benefit of having short hair was that it didn't require a lot of maintenance; a teensy bit of shampoo, a bit of rinsing, drying and then a comb-through and he was done. There were sometimes when he felt like being fussy about it, but they were rare. He washed his face and his body with the same soap then he stood under the stream for another five minutes before he finally shut it off. If he could have, he'd have stayed under longer, but since he could feel his muscles begin to tire, he didn't push it.

Opening the door to the bedroom so that the steam from the bathroom could escape, Nick inhaled deeply. The smell of fresh bread wafted through his nose, quickly followed by smell of chicken; he assumed it was chicken noodle soup that was being made since he didn't think Rosalee would let him eat anything more substantive at the moment, but for a minute he imagined a rotisserie chicken, a baked potato, and maybe even a salad waiting for him.

His mouth watered as his imagination wandered. Off the top of his head, he could come up with five meals that sounded more delicious than soup, but he acknowledged that his stomach wasn't ready to handle anything too heavy yet and so he clamped down on his cravings.

After quickly throwing on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, Nick made his way downstairs. Much to his surprise he found the downstairs clean, in order, and…homey. All of the "gifts" from the eisbibers had either been put away in the kitchen or placed somewhere out of the way so that it looked like they belonged there. He paused for a moment to allow the scene to set in and then he made his way into the kitchen where he heard Rosalee bustling about.

"Hey!" she greeted happily yet distractedly. Her movements never ceased as she moved through his kitchen as though she'd been the one to set everything up rather than Juliette. "How are you feeling?"

"Hey, uh, better, I guess. What's going on?"

Food was strewn about the kitchen counters. It was messy and yet it wasn't since all of it was packed in the form of meals in plastic to-go containers. Nick stared at it all in amazement with just a touch of bewilderment. Did she think he couldn't feed himself?

"Just putting the rest of this food into the freezer before I begin setting the table," she absently answered while pouring a bit of what looked like goulash into a large, plastic bowl.

"I see that," he said, still staring at the counters. "The question is ... why are you putting large amounts of food into plastic containers?"

"Monroe was worried that with Juliette gone, you wouldn't feed yourself properly so he made enough food to last you through a war or two."

"Uh-huh, and, why are _you_ the one putting it away?"

"Because he's out back grilling dinner for _us_."

The way she said 'us' made Nick think that she meant only Monroe and herself, but he still rose his eyebrows in a way that suggested he was asking if the meal was for all of them rather than just the two that hadn't been sick. His smile grew when she purposely ignored him, apparently guessing that what he was going to ask.

"Great," Nick said when the kitchen remained in silence and Rosalee continue to ignore him, "well, I'll just go and see if he needs some help."

When Rosalee remained silent, he went to the back hall, grabbed his coat and went outside to the porch. The smell of searing meat floated through the air like a delicate feather, settling on the autumn air like a comforting presence. Monroe stood in front of the grill, letting the smoke from the fire waft over him before it dissipated like a fine mist.

"Hey! Should you be out here?" the Blutbad greeted and asked in one. Using the pair of tongs he had in his hand, he flipped the meat over and then hung them back on the grill's side.

"Hey," Nick greeted back, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets to keep them warm. "I guess so. She didn't stop me from coming."

Monroe raised an eyebrow out at him. "That doesn't mean you should be out here. That just means that she was too busy to notice."

"Tomato, Tomahto," Nick answered, hovering by the warm grill. "What made you decide to grill? I thought you were a vegan."

"I am," Monroe assured, turning his attention from Nick down to the meat to make sure it wasn't burning and then focusing back on Nick. "This is vegan steak; there's no actual meat in it."

"Doesn't that kinda defeat the purpose of it?" Nick teased with a smile. In all honesty, he admired the Blutbad for his choice of lifestyle. While Nick didn't mind eating vegan or vegetarian every once in a while, he knew he couldn't do it every day – he craved red meat far too often.

Just then, the back door opened and Rosalee's head poked out. "Hey, Nick, could you do me a favor? Could you grab the plates for me? They're a bit too high up for me to reach."

Monroe and Nick shared a look that said that neither of them was fooled before Nick gave the fuchsbau a smile and answered, "Yeah. It's the least I could do."

She smiled at him and then went back inside, knowing that he would follow her. He shared another look with Monroe before he went back into the house, shivering as the heat from it sunk into his bones, alerting him to just how cold he'd actually been.

"So, why are the plates so high up again?" Nick asked as he grabbed said plates from an upper shelf in the cabinet.

"It seems as if your kitchen wasn't very organized, so Monroe took it upon himself to correct that while you were ill," Rosalee answered, taking the plates from Nick and putting them on the dining table. Though he'd handed her three, she'd only put two on the table, giving him the third one back with a, "Nice try."

"I'm not trying anything," Nick answered with a smile that belied his innocence. "Besides," he added when she gave him an eyebrow raise of doubt, "wouldn't it be better to have a plate under the bowl of soup so that I can put my bread on it? I did smell fresh bread, right?"

"Yes, you did," she answered in response to his second question. She didn't even bother answering his first, however, as she simply walked back into the dining room and placed the plate under his bowl. "Satisfied?" she asked when she came back in to grab silverware and napkins.

"Thrilled," Nick replied with a smile. Since he didn't actually feel that way, he chose to walk into the living room to take a breather for a few seconds. He'd just sat down when his phone, which, out of habit, was attached to his belt, rang. "Burkhardt," he answered without blinking.

"Just thought I'd let you know that the Captain has given you the rest of the week off," Hank supplied without bothering to say hello.

"Oh," Nick answered, not really able to think of something else. "Thanks."

"Uh-huh; don't think I'm going to play your messenger boy every time you don't feel like callin' in sick, though."

Nick chuckled, knowing that Hank would in fact play messenger whenever he asked, just like Nick would always do it if it was Hank that was sick or injured.

"Got it," he assured. "See you on Monday."

"Uh-huh," was all he got in reply before the line cut off.

"Nick?" Rosalee said as she poked her head into the living room. "Dinner's ready."

"Okay, thanks," he answered, waiting until she walked away before letting out a heavy sigh. "Here we go," he said to himself before he hoisted his butt off the couch and into the dining room.

**oOo**

The dinner passed pleasantly and swiftly. What little chatter there was mingled perfectly with the food as they ate, creating a comfortable atmosphere despite the events of the past week. Once it had finished, Nick helped to clear off the table and do the dishes while Rosalee put the spare food away.

"You guys don't have to stick around anymore, you know," Nick said as he bent down to load the plates into the dishwasher.

"I don't know," Monroe answered from his spot against the counter, bottle of beer in his hand. "The last time I left you alone, you managed to make yourself very sick. Who knows what could happen if you're left to your own devices."

"Funnily enough, I wasn't aware that you were a babysitter as well as a clock maker," Nick returned, adding the cups and silverware as he did so.

"Are you kidding me? I've been a babysitter from the moment you attacked me in my own home," Monroe countered without missing a beat.

"Really?" Nick asked, curious by what he meant.

"Yeah, I've been babysitting you since you first showed up at my door, lookin' for answers." He took another gulp of beer and then gave Nick a smile.

Nick opened his mouth to argue, but since he knew that Monroe was right, he shut it again, shrugged and shoved the pots and pans into the dishwasher, added the detergent and then forcefully closed the door. The dishwasher activated and the gentle humming of the water being splished and splashed soon became the only sound in the kitchen.

"Anyways," Nick emphasized as the small group continued to simply stare at one another. "Like I was saying, I'm feeling much better now, so you guys can go ahead and go home tonight."

"I think that sounds like a great idea," Rosalee said before Monroe had a chance to respond. "And I agree. You're definitely doing much better."

The two looked over at Monroe, impatiently waiting for the Blutbad to agree with broad, encouraging smiles on their faces. At long last he rolled his eyes and gulped down the rest of his beer. "Fine, all right," he gave in, placing the bottle into the trash. "But if you need anything, call. Don't wait until you're desperate."

"Monroe, I'll be fine," Nick reassured, sounding a bit more annoyed than he would have liked. It wasn't that he didn't understand or appreciate the other man's protective nature because he really did. Over the past year, the two had become good friends and each felt responsible for the other's health, whether they were or not. It was just that, right now, he longed to be left alone so that he could finally let the mask fall and slowly begin to adapt to life without Juliette.

They walked to the entryway in some silent understanding that the night was over. Despite the gloom he felt about Juliette leaving, Nick also felt blessed that he had friends that he knew he could count on and that understood him on a deeper level than she ever did.

"But thanks," he added to make sure that Monroe didn't feel like his and Rosalee's help wasn't appreciated.

Both Wesen nodded their answer then Rosalee leaned in to give him a hug. Having been caught off guard, Nick simply stood there for a few seconds while she hugged him. Then as things slowly began to process, he wrapped his arms around her, returning the hug and feeling, somehow, privileged to be receiving such a show of affection.

"Thanks for your help," he told her as she backed away and stood next to Monroe. "Both of you."

"You're welcome, Nick," Rosalee answered for the both of them. Apparently taking that as her cue, the fuchsbau opened the door and walked out, stopping just outside to wait for Monroe to join.

The two men shook hands with Nick adding a small smile of both thanks and apology. He felt bad for essentially kicking the two out like he had, but he also felt bad about their having to watch over him for the past seventy-two hours. Monroe smiled back, silently assuring Nick that he had nothing to apologize for, and then he too walked out, closing the door behind him.

Once he was sure that they'd driven away, Nick collapsed against the front door, simply allowing the events of the past week collapse around him. Next week was going to be better. It had to be.

**TBC**


End file.
